Igniting the Fire
by SporadicWriter
Summary: Vegeta has fallen further than ever before. Will he find purpose by returning to Capsule Corp, and back to the idiot woman, in order to raise his son? -Seven Years- Sequel to TANF.
1. Starting Line

A/N – Hello. I finally had the chance to begin writing this, and how happy I am. For those of you who don't know, this is the sequel to TANF, but you don't have to read that one to read this, of course. I'm still not quite sure about the plan, but as TANF took me a while to write, I'm sure in time, it'll fit together nicely.

I'm gunna try and make this story a bit darker, 'cause Vegeta does kind of lose it in the Buu Saga, so there should be some sort of build up to that.

I'll do my best :)

As usual, I hope you enjoy my story and thanks for having a read ;)

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><p><span>Igniting the Fire<span>

Chapter One

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><p>The room was familiar, except for the few pictures on the mantelpiece. In fact, there was no mantel piece as far as could recall. He'd always asked for a plain room. Nothing more. Yes, that's where he was – his quarters at Capsule Corp. <em>His <em>room? Not just a place he slept? He looked down at himself: there were no scars or wounds from the battle with cell, instead, his clothing was in pristine condition and it was the kind of formal attire he would wear when he was known for his royal status – or, in the company of his father.

Vegeta stepped further into the darkness. The pictures on the mantelpiece were barely recognisable, but he could see enough. They each represented something in his life, some things that he would rather forget. There was a picture of Bulma holding Trunks, next to that, a picture of Mr and Mrs Briefs, but at the very end, there was a picture of Trunks, lying in the dirt with a wound through his heart, and his eyes were like stones. Dead. Vegeta swiped the picture from the mantelpiece and threw it. Nor the glass, or the impact from the throw made a sound, but a vaguely familiar voice broke through to him instead. As he lifted his head away from the broken picture, he trembled and left his jaw to snap open.

It was him. But it couldn't be ... How?

Standing before him was King Vegeta, and despite the darkness, Vegeta could see the contours of his face and the shimmering blackness in his eyes. Quickly, Vegeta turned, so that his back was facing the Saiyan king, and so that his father couldn't see the tears forming in his eyes. It had never occurred to him as much as it did now that he was a failure, and to be in the company of someone who had disgraced the Saiyan name and abandoned his own blood, was too shameful to endure. He had no idea what was happening to him. Whether he was dead, or dreaming, or if he was having some sort of delusional frenzy, but he knew that hell would be a safer place for him than here.

He rubbed the wetness from his eyes with the back of his hand, and then slowly peeled his gloves away, finger by finger, before tossing them to the floor. He was done.

"Vegeta," King Vegeta said, his voice like tiny needles piercing through Vegeta's brain.

He didn't respond. He had no reason to. Whatever his father had to say, he wasn't interested.

"My son," King Vegeta continued. "You have changed … Yes, I can see that now."

Vegeta brought his shoulder blades together at the sound of his father's voice, and when he heard the foot-steps tapping towards him, the crease in his brow grew deeper; he found that he was unable to move.

"I'm not ashamed, son," King Vegeta said, and placed his hand on Vegeta's shoulder, pressing his gloved fingers into his collar bone.

The contact provoked Vegeta to speak. He couldn't comprehend the situation he was in, but he was obviously there for a reason. "I failed …", was all he could mumble, and his head sunk lower into his neck.

"You fought well."

The sigh from his father felt cold against his neck. Why could he feel? Was he alive?

Vegeta didn't think about it for much longer before he shrugged his father's grip away from his shoulder, and then made his way towards the door. He didn't have time to be listening to the drivel this man had to say. Failure or not, he wouldn't sink that low.

"You have a son," King Vegeta said, instantly cementing Vegeta to the ground and forcing him to swing round and face him. "A chance to redeem yourself." Now, King Vegeta was facing the balcony windows, the same windows that Vegeta had vowed to never stand before again.

He hadn't forgotten that detail in his life. Yes, he did have a child. He knew it now more than ever, and that is why the pain in his heart was growing rapidly at the mention of the child's existence. And to hear that coward mention it, was only intensifying it. "And you would know all about that, now, wouldn't you?" Vegeta said, laughing, and now feeling confident enough to approach the dark silhouette across the room.

King Vegeta's cape wavered, and he shook his shoulders as if to literally shake the words away from him. "Do not make the same mistakes I did, boy. You have a son, an heir, blood of the Saiyan race," he said, his voice low and his words clipped tightly together.

Vegeta stopped his advancements, finding himself beside the picture of Bulma and Trunks, and he exhaled heavily. For once, his father was right. He didn't want to be like him. He wasn't like him. Would it be worth looking after the child, for the sake of his pride, once more? The fight with Cell merely highlighted his incapability of surpassing Kakarot, and becoming the strongest being in the universe. A child had surpassed him, for God's sake. All the training, the blood, the pain, the sleepless nights, and for what? What, exactly, did he gain from all this, other than a serious blow to his pride? He couldn't even save his son.

He could never look after the boy.

"What could that half breed possibly learn from a failed warrior?" said Vegeta, with his eyes shifting between the picture and the man before him, "I should be nowhere near the boy; he doesn't need me." Vegeta sighed and pushed the picture flat down. He didn't need to see it. He had seen Trunks fight during the battle with Cell, and _he_ had something which he could never achieve. Trunks had lived his life without Vegeta in the future and turned out to be a spectacular warrior. Look what good Vegeta did when he was alive. He had shunned the boy constantly, never giving him an ounce of attention, which only depressed the boy. He was better off alone.

King Vegeta sighed, "One day, Vegeta, you too will come to see the foolishness of your decisions. I hope you will not suffer for your mistakes as I have."

Vegeta choked with laughter, "I don't care for you suffering. You got what you deserved, coward."

"I am sorr-"

"Save it," said Vegeta, swiping his arm through the air.

"Do not let Trunks suffer for _my _mistakes," King Vegeta said, his voice softer.

"I will _not _take orders from you," Vegeta said, clenching his fists, rolling his shoulders, and preparing for an action he couldn't quite comprehend.

"Do what is right. For your honour and your pride." King Vegeta stepped away from the window and turned to face his son, who was now calm and loosening his shoulders.

Vegeta stared blankly at his father's face, or what was supposed to be his father's face. Instead it was just a black space, or a vortex of nothing. Maybe he _was_ dead. But despite the bizarre situation, Vegeta thought about what his father was saying. It was a message that had been drilled into him since he was a child. _Honour_ and _Pride_. That was all that mattered in life when he was prince of all Saiyans, but he wasn't that anymore. Could he throw all that away from himself, to step aside for his son?

He closed his eyes, "Fsh … I won't do it." He had already made up his mind. Pride aside for a second, the boy was important to him now ... but his father didn't have to know.

"But whatever you do, boy. Do _not_ forget who you are," said King Vegeta.

Vegeta opened his eyes, but now, his father was no longer in the room, yet, there was another figure standing by the window. A vaguely familiar figure, again. The person was small, but dressed in the same clothing his father had been wearing. Vegeta's heart raced as he crept closer to the strange figure, before the room lit up with a blinding amber glow, causing him to wince and retreat a few steps. The warmth of the glow pulsed against his eyelids, beckoning him to open them; so he slowly managed to do so, and what he saw was astounding.

Grinning beyond the beaming light, was his youth, holding on to the mass of energy in the palm of his hand, as if it were a toy of some sort. The malicious grin on his face was hauntingly familiar and even Vegeta felt himself shaking in fear. "What are you-," Vegeta gasped and launched forward in an attempt to stop the boy before he launched the ki directly between them, but it was futile as the child released the energy along with a deafening shriek of laughter.

Vegeta gasped and hauled himself up-right, while covering his sweaty face with his hands to rub the burning sensation from his eyes. When he opened them again, and took his hands away, it was very apparent that he was no longer in his room at Capsule Corp, and was no longer in the company of his father or his past self. Rather, he was alone, in a wooded area, his clothes had been shredded to pieces, the colour of his skin was unrecognisable beneath all the dirt and blood, and it certainly wasn't night time. As soon as the realisation crept upon him, so did the pain. The mental and the physical. He cradled his left arm and tried to get to his feet, before collapsing back to the ground again. How long had he been here? The last thing he could remember was flying around with no real purpose at all. He must have passed out and landed here. But that still didn't answer his question. The surroundings were completely new to him, and they clearly hadn't been affected by the Cell games, so he must have travelled quite a fair distance to be surrounded by all the untouched earth.

As he tried to formulate his next plan of action, a thought swept through his mind, and his eyes widened dramatically. If he had been passed out for so long, he'd have missed the day that future Trunks departed back to his original timeline. He needed to see the boy before he left. There was no answer as to why, but he knew he had to go back to Capsule Corp.

With his remaining shred of strength, he lifted himself to his feet, grasping on to the nearest branch for stability, while cradling his limp arm. The pain surged through his body, but he stayed determined, "the – boy," he said, spluttering out air from his dry mouth, and gazing beyond the broken canopy at the blue sky.

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><p>Bulma and Trunks clinked their beer bottles together; Trunks did so very wearily as he had never drank alcohol before and was still underage. The gleam in his mother's eyes made it hard to say no, so he took the strange bottle and placed it readily to his lips, allowing the waft of yeast into his nasal cavity. It was gross. He pulled it back and grimaced, while Bulma laughed and took a generous swig of her own drink.<p>

"Mom, really," he said, as he pushed the bottle in her direction, "I have to fly my ship, soon."

Bulma wasn't one for condoning underage drinking, but it was a fact that, once again, the world had been near to extinction, and her son had contributed to regain its safety. "One won't hurt. We need to celebrate," she pushed the bottle back into his chest and he frowned, before sighing and shrugging his shoulders.

"Yeah, I guess so." And he clutched the bottle to his chest.

Bulma winked and then ruffled Trunks' freshly cropped hair, letting the little lavender snippets fall to the floor. Trunks blushed and lifted the bottle to his lips again, but then swung it behind his back as soon as he heard a loud crash from the hallway, and then seeing Vegeta appear in the door's archway.

Bulma gently placed her beer on the kitchen counter, and fought the urge to scramble over to Vegeta and help him. She couldn't straighten out the thoughts in her head. It was too sudden and unbelievable, so she exhaled deeply. "I'm just going to check on Trunks," she said, her voice wavering, "Baby Trunks, I mean." Bulma smiled a small smile towards Trunks and then scuttled out the kitchen, leaving father and son alone.

Trunks slid the beer from behind his back and on to the counter, as subtly as he could.

"I'll have that, boy," said Vegeta, while locking his blood shot eyes with Trunks'.

Trunks blinked, shook his head, then nodded quickly, "yeah, sure, here," he said, handing the bottle over as Vegeta hobbled forward.

Vegeta snatched the bottle and downed the contents, immediately slamming it back on to the counter, as well as throwing his entire body weight against the unit.

Trunks watched with wide eyes, half in fear and half in curiosity. All he knew was his father was alive and he was home. But he wasn't going to deny the doubt he had in Vegeta, the nagging thought telling him that his father was gone and wasn't coming back. What Krillin had said to him, though, was so surreal and unexpected, that Trunks didn't want to try and determine his father's character anymore. Turns out he is full of surprises.

"You're leaving ... When?" Vegeta said, abruptly dragging Trunks off his train of thought and throwing him back in to the kitchen.

"Not long, now. In an hour or so, I think." Trunks smiled and rubbed the back of his head because he didn't know what else to do when his father was staring so intensely at him like that.

Vegeta nodded slowly, as any other sudden movements would have wasted too much energy, and he had only a fraction left. Then he looked at Trunks. He saw that the boy had changed dramatically since the fight. How long had he been unconscious for? His hair was shorter, and his clothes looked clean. He guessed Bulma must have had something to do with that. God forbid the boy went back to the future Bulma looking like a real warrior.

Vegeta lifted a palm to his throbbing forehead and lost his balance for a second, until Trunks assisted him.

"Father," said Trunks, throwing Vegeta's arm over his shoulder, and instantly forgetting about the man's pride. "You need to rest-"

With his lasting strength, Vegeta slugged himself away from Trunks and hobbled, heading for the stairs, and his room. But before he made it out the kitchen, he twisted his head back towards Trunks and looked at him with a genuine look of sincerity, "Tell me when you're departing." And he continued out the room and out of Trunks' sight.

Trunks visibly relaxed, loosening his shoulders and propping his elbows on top of the work surface. His father always had a way of making him feel uncomfortable. He shook his head, allowing a grin to grow on his face, and he drifted off into thoughts about the future. Not of his world, but of this world. It was a shame he had to go so soon. It'd be a phenomenon seeing Vegeta settle down, that is if that's what he planned to do.

Maybe he wasn't planning on staying, but Trunks had inkling that his mother would be able to dissuade him from leaving.

As Vegeta headed towards his room (yes, it _was_ his room), he could feel Bulma's ki drifting down the corridor towards him. She was the last person he wanted to see, right now. The time she would spend fussing over him, trying to _help _by tending to his wounds, and minder him about how stupid he had been, he could be in his room, catching up on some well needed rest. Her footsteps were drawing closer, and Vegeta hadn't decided how he was going to react to her. He could sense the brat's ki, it was settled for the moment, but from what he'd seen, that child was temperamental, alright. Just like his mother.

Bulma strode down the corridor, thinking about what Trunks had told her. Vegeta had defended him. That was one of two thoughts in her mind, along with, he acknowledged his son. His _son. _She knew it! She could be smug about it, and say 'I told you so' but to be fair, who knew that Vegeta was going to come home. Could she call it his home? Well she did, anyway. But if she was going to be the smart arse that she was, she could also say 'I knew you'd come back', because, even when he spat all of the verbal abuse at her and swore he was leaving for good; she knew otherwise.

She paused when she saw Vegeta looming in the corridor, looking suspiciously like a stray cat. The pause was only momentary, as she soon mentally slapped and warned herself that he was a very temperamental man, and anything could snap him. Judging by his physical state, he was at his worst, and she thought no more about trying to converse with such a volatile alien, Saiyan, father of her child.

Deciding that the opposite wall was far more interesting than the site of Vegeta-lingering down the corridor-she trudged on and went straight past him, which, involuntarily, didn't settle well with Vegeta.

Despite protesting against her company, he didn't expect the woman to breeze past him like she had better things to do. And despite throwing in the towel from his status as prince of all Saiyans, he still despised it when plebs like her acted over him. It just wouldn't fly.

"I need a change of clean clothes, immediately," he said, catching Bulma from her mission.

She stopped and spun around, startled that he would initiate a conversation with her, as trivial as it was. "All the clothes in your closet are still there, Vegeta. Nobody moved them," she said, frowning, but not because she was angry, just because she was disappointed that he would think such a thing.

Feeling a bit embarrassed, Vegeta looked away from her. For several reasons. It was undeniable that her physical appearance sent warmth through his body, but there was also something endearing about the way she said his name-like she actually gave a damn.

He looked back at her. He didn't have the energy or the patience for those thoughts. Not again.

Bulma watched Vegeta, and noticed how unsteady he was. She desperately wanted to help him, to alleviate his pain, but she knew she'd do more harm than help. She bit her lip, but caved. "Vegeta, you look wrecked. Go lie down, and I'll run you a bath," she said, smiling a little, not too much.

Instantly, Vegeta locked eyes with her, frowning deeply, "No. A shower will suffice," he said, and turned around.

Bulma sighed, shrugging off her attempt of compassion, "OK," she said, and headed in the opposite direction.

An hour had passed and Bulma had itched and fidgeted, but now, she was standing in Vegeta's room, pressing a freshly ironed pair of pants and a jumper on his bed, along with a sensu bean because he looked like he was about to knock on death's door. Trunks was leaving soon, and she had hoped that Vegeta would say goodbye to his son beforehand, so she wanted him to recover quickly; regardless of being in the knowledge of his hatred for the sensu bean.

His room was crisp clean, untouched, not a crease in sight, so, understandably, he must have gone straight for a shower. But she couldn't hear any water running. Maybe he took her advice and had a bath. Baths were like genuine therapy. She knew this well, from travelling with Goku all those years ago. All that stress and torment. Nothing a bath and some herbal bubbles couldn't cure.

She smiled, flattened the clothes once more, turned round, and nearly shrieked when she saw Vegeta standing opposite her, towel around his waist, hair dripping wet. Why didn't she hear any of this? She had to stop daydreaming.

Granted, he looked a lot better, although he was covered in fresh cuts, some still weeping and seeping with blood. She thought about the sensu bean again.

She cleared her throat and folded her arms, "here, I brought you a change of clothes," she said, trying to read his expression.

He looked over her shoulder, and was able to see the pile of clothing, but particularly, the bloody sensu bean on top of the pile. He exhaled through his nose, and was grateful when Bulma promptly left the room, shutting the door behind her.

He dropped his towel and stepped over to the bed to examine the garments, tossing the sensu bean on one of the pillows for the time being. When lifting the clothes in front of the glow from the sun light, he gathered that there was nothing unusual about them, and nothing was pink and had disgusting slogans on the back. He was safe to wear these clothes, this time. The last time he'd been given clothes by that woman ...

He snarled and threw the jumper over his head.

He hadn't forgotten why he was here.

Once dressed, he glanced over at the sensu bean, and mumbled something incoherent.

Later that night, after Trunks had returned to his original timeline, and after putting the present Trunks to bed, Bulma retired to the kitchen to 'test' her mom's new recipe for the chocolate cake she had baked, which evidently, Trunks hadn't eaten a bite. And _she_ thought _all _Saiyans were pigs. Not _her _boy! She was leaning against the kitchen counter, and had, beside her, a large plate with a huge chunk (that looked like it had been torn away with bare hands) of chocolate cake on it. The cake hadn't been tasted yet, as Bulma felt like she was anticipating something, or someone, to enter the kitchen at any moment. It was sad how much hope Bulma still had, and what she hoped for, exactly. She didn't even know. It was like a whirlwind of events, these past few weeks. One minute the world was going to end, the next, the Earth is safe, her best friend is dead, and the father of her child has returned with no explanation as to why. Not that she needed one. She assumed he had come back for Trunks, but there was always the chance that, maybe, he had come back for her. Most likely not, though.

As if the Saiyan in question had heard her thoughts, he paced into the kitchen, looking like he was searching for something. He looked immaculate, now, not a hair out of place, and his skin was blemish and scar free. Olive and matte. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and sweat pants which she had given him earlier. She didn't have to ask if he'd eaten the sensu bean. It was patently obvious.

Not once, from the entire length of the kitchen, did he cast a glance her way, rather, his gaze had welded itself to the fridge. She should have guessed … Even when she had an entire chocolate cake beside her, Vegeta would go against his carnal instincts and forage for something less delectable instead. Stubborn Jackass.

While thoughts of chopping a certain Saiyan's head off were still fresh in her mind, she yanked a fork out of the draw and stabbed her clump of cake, then slurped the sticky goo that was dripping off the prongs of the fork. Who needed manners, really? It wasn't like she was trying to impress anyone. Slowly, it dawned on her, that she may have been showing the early signs of a midlife crisis; she swallowed, exhaled, and turned towards Vegeta.

Rummaging through the fridge, Vegeta stopped when he sensed Bulma watching him. It was eerie. He stood erect, and looked over in her direction, appalled when he saw the smudge of chocolate (Or, at least, he hoped it was chocolate) going from the corner of her lip to the bottom of her chin. Did she know it was there? Of course not. Should he tell her … Did he even care?

God, the staring was irritating!

Thankfully, Bulma took it upon herself to make some form of conversation. After all, she had lived with this man for a few years now; it wasn't like a first meeting. "You want some," she said, smiling, and directing her fork towards the sludge mountain of gooey chocolate.

Vegeta quickly looked at the cake, then back to her face, hoping that she hadn't been the human who had baked the cake; then it would be a straight no, and get out of there. But if it was so bad, she wouldn't have been eating it herself, so he nodded a 'yes' and strode over.

Bulma hashed out a piece with her fork, and plonked it on a plate, licking her fingers in the most unenticing way possible. Vegeta snarled, and pulled the plate across to him, so he was a safe distance away from this monstrous creature who, somehow, still seemed attractive to him.

He really wanted to take himself and the cake away from wherever Bulma was, but he stayed, and they both ate in silence. He was somewhat comfortable with it. The sensu bean had done the trick, as usual, and he was feeling as fit as he could ever feel, and he had her to thank for that. But he wouldn't. He would eat this cake, go to his room, and think – think about what the fucking hell he was trying to do here. And why his dreams were plaguing his mind with decisions he felt obliged to make. There was a strong sense of awareness in Vegeta at that point, when he looked up at the woman, who still had chocolate on her God damn face.

"Woman, clean your face," he said, clearing his throat as quickly as he clipped his words, without looking at Bulma.

Bulma pressed a palm to her mouth and dragged it down to smear any unwanted chocolaty residue away. As she did so, she felt her face rush with blood, and by impulse, she spun around, plate in hand, and headed for the sink. Still flustered in the company of Vegeta? Get a grip, Bulma.

Scraping away with her back to Vegeta, she raised a question, or statement, which he had to answer. He _had _to.

"I couldn't help but notice you're back," she said, and then blew a stray tassel of hair from her face, while she viciously started to scrub the plate.

"For now," he said after swallowing the last of his cake. He could just walk away silently, now that she had her back turned, but she had started talking, hadn't she?

"What do you mean?" She turned round, plate and sponge in hand, suds dripping down her arm.

Vegeta paled at the sight, forgetting the question, so he shrugged a response.

"That's not an answer, Vegeta … What do you mean, 'for now'?" Bulma couldn't help but raise her tone a little. She didn't have time for childishness.

Somehow, the answer became clear to Vegeta. He knew what he was going to do. If his presence annoyed her, then he would definitely stay a little longer than planned. Meaning, he would stay until the boy was at least two or three human years. That would be long enough to drive her to insanity.

He frowned.

Wait. Why was he thinking about do something for her? It may not have been for her, but it involved her, indeed. No, he would focus on the child. The woman didn't exist.

"I'll stay while I'm needed," he said, crossing his arms.

Bulma's shoulders dropped, and she turned her back on him again, which Vegeta didn't particularly like. Once someone asks a question, they don't just leave the answer dwindling in the air without a clear explanation … "I will stay to train the boy."

Bulma whipped round again, this time dropping the dish that had been scrubbed vigorously, and walked a few paces closer to Vegeta. "Trunks won't be training for a while, yet. You've got a long wait ahead of you." Bulma grinned, and leaned against the counter again.

Vegeta stepped back from her, "he is capable already," he said, and smirked when he saw her gawk.

"What?"

"In fact, he can begin immediately." Vegeta frowned, taking the matter more seriously now.

"No." Bulma swatted her hand through the air. What gave him that ridiculous idea? The nerve of that man.

"He is a Saiyan. He'll be taught to fight like one," said Vegeta, holding down his temper, and looking into the eyes of the fuming woman next to him. Something about her still made him feel tense. When she was angry like that …

He hissed to himself.

Bulma rolled her eyes. Welcome back, Vegeta, she thought, as she leant over to the fruit bowl and selected an apple. "My baby," she said calmly, "is not fighting. He can barely walk without falling down." She crunched into the apple.

Watching her closely as she chewed, Vegeta continued, "He will learn quickly."

She sighed, "No, Vegeta. It's not happening." Bulma couldn't believe it. This guy had serious personality issues. It was hard to get to grips with a person … Saiyan, who was so persistent with changing his mind. And, more to the point - was he insane? Wanting to train a, nearly, one year old child. Saiyan or not, Trunks wasn't training with anyone, especially not his father, who, at any moment, could change his mind and vanish off to some distant planet; never to return.

No chance.

"I wasn't asking for permission, woman," he said indignantly.

Bulma laughed, "I don't care. It's not happening …" Then she sighed, "you can't come back here, after shoving me and Trunks out, and expect me to let you train him. The last thing I knew was, according to you, he wasn't your son at all. I guess you've changed your mind about that, hm?" She bit into the apple again and held it elegantly, just above her right shoulder. She wanted to hear him say it. But he didn't, did he.

"I wouldn't be here, otherwise," he said, and huffed. What a foolish question. There was a reason he didn't like this woman.

Bulma chewed thoughtfully for a few seconds, allowing Vegeta to cook under the intensity of her decision making. It _was _up to her after all. If Vegeta really wanted to train Trunks, she supposed, he was right to return. She couldn't help but feel a little disappointed, but seriously, what did she expect? Nothing, of course. She had to remember that. It was still hard to believe he was back at all, so this entire situation seemed like a narcotic haze to Bulma. It was possible that she was sleeping, but then, Vegeta would have swept her up in his arms and flown off into the sun set; she was definitely awake. So, what if she did let him train Trunks? It would be too dangerous, and she didn't know if she could trust and ex-homicidal Saiyan to look after her boy. Even so, she certainly wouldn't allow it while he was still a baby. She guessed she'd have to barter with Vegeta. If no terms were accepted, then, as much as she'd regret it, Vegeta would have to leave. She could cope with that, right?

Finishing her apple, she placed the core on the side, and stared directly at Vegeta. "Fine … You can train him in three years."

Vegeta's jaw loosened, and he scoffed, "don't be absurd!" He uncrossed his arms and stepped closer to Bulma, unaware that her scent was slowly wrapping around his senses. Then he stopped, and flinched.

"He's too young," Bulma shouted, stepping yet another step closer to Vegeta.

"He's a Saiyan!" Vegeta tried to hold his breath.

"He's a _baby_," Bulma implored.

Vegeta let out a breath of air, and cocked an eyebrow. "He can walk, can't he?" he said, as if it was the simplest question to ask a mother.

"Only just." Bulma blew the same lock of hair, which kept flopping in front of her eyes all day, out of her face and glared at Vegeta.

He gulped, not in fear of her rage, but in fear of his sanity. What was going on? "There's no problem then."

Bulma huffed, "Oh my God," under her breath and searched the ground for an answer. "He's not even one yet," she said, but Vegeta should have already known that, being the fantastic father that he was.

"Irrelevant." He crossed his arms again, showing no room for objections.

"You don't get it," she held back the lock of hair and looked up at Vegeta, "I want him to be a baby and do things that babies do. I don't want him fighting at such a young age, and missing out on growing up like a normal baby should." She instantly remembered that Trunks wasn't a normal baby, due to him being half alien, and all. "It's too dangerous, anyways. He'll get hurt, and I could never forgive myself."

Vegeta rolled his eyes, thinking about strangling this woman until her lips turned blue. Did she seriously think that he would harm his child? Besides, the boy could handle a bit of pain, it would do him the world of good. Instead of being pampered all his life, he could be shown the harsh realities: make him stronger, bolder.

He narrowed his eyes at Bulma, seeing the genuine fear in hers, which only insulted him further. "He won't be in danger."

Bulma placed a hand to her forehead once she felt the strong throbbing of a migraine coming on. _Shit_. She closed her eyes and waved Vegeta off. "Can we talk about this some other time? I don't think … I'm up for discussing this anymore," she said, sloping away from Vegeta, because nothing else mattered other than pain killers.

Since the announcement of the Cell games, Bulma had been suffering from an intense chain of migraines, which were always triggered by anger; so now that Vegeta was back, she knew that they would only worsen. That was one of the reasons why she wanted him to leave. Really, she needed to see a doctor about it, but she assumed they would pass after so long. So would grit her teeth and bear it.

Vegeta watched as she swayed from side to side, and he sensed the distress in her ki, or rather, the lack of ki. He squinted at her figure until it was out of his view. He would bring the matter up with her later. He wouldn't settle with that particular settlement.

He exhaled deeply. What was he doing? He really needed to think this over. But he thought he already did so. Then why was he consistently doubting his own decisions? He _had_ to do this. But why? So that his father, who kept appearing in his dreams, would be proud of him?

"Ch." He rolled his eyes.

What a joke.

He knew who he was – a failure. He couldn't bestow that in front of his own son. Then again, he now had to prove something. To himself, not to that idiot woman. No matter how much he would try and avoid her, she would be actively present while he lived here and trained his son. Well, she wouldn't _be_ there when he trained him. He wouldn't stand for that.

Vegeta raked a hand through his hair, and he muttered something to himself. He had a mentally strenuous future ahead, but first, he would eat the rest of that cake.


	2. Time

Igniting the Fire

Chapter 2

* * *

><p>Things were, well, what was the right word … <em>complicated<em>.

Due to a high level of stress, and a forced visit to her GP, Bulma had, reluctantly, taken an extended vacation from work. Any type of work was prohibited, banned, illegal, if DR Briefs had anything to say about it, which, for once, he stood his ground against his daughter, instead of letting her do whatever, whenever, wherever. She had to learn some day. So what if it was a little belated.

So, taking the expert advice from her doctor, Bulma was taking time out to relax, a therapy that was unyielding from the torment of her mind. But talking was proving a heck of a lot easier than putting things into action, and so far, she could not for the life of her, stop thinking about the man who had come home. The catalyst to her pain. It had been a week since she'd spoken to him, and neither she nor he made an ounce of effort to converse with one another. She pondered, mostly mindlessly, about what he could possibly be doing cooped up in his room all day. He wasn't training anymore, that was for certain. Gone were the days when she would be pestered endlessly to fix and tweak the Gravity Room! She supposed that was a sure step towards relaxation. But, no, it wasn't. She wanted to see him, more so now that she knew he was back living in the same building. Oh, that man … She wouldn't think about him anymore. What was the use? They were both adults, weren't they?

Even now, when she had Yamcha and Puar around, and Yamcha was talking relentlessly about the past few weeks, her mind was away, somewhere distant, wishing to be wherever Vegeta's mind was. Abruptly, Bulma was pulled back down to reality by the sound of Trunks wailing loud enough for the whole of West City to hear. The decision to have a picnic in the midst of the hottest day to record wasn't very efficient when there were wasps buzzing around her baby.

Bulma leant over the discarded paper plates and plastic cups, and picked up Trunks, who, thankfully, hadn't been stung but was only crying because a wasp had landed on his scoop of ice cream. Once he had calmed down in the sanctuary of his mother's lap, he giggled when he looked up and saw Puar, or now, a giant fly swatter, slapping the wasps away as if they were tiny tennis balls.

With her free hand, she wiped the sweat from her brow, and cried in relief when Yamcha handed her a glass of lemonade, "Thanks." She sighed and took a sip, noting the audience that was Yamcha; staring at her while she sipped. Feeling rather self-conscious, she stopped sipping and put down her glass, which Trunks decided to kick over just for the hell of it.

"What's so interesting?" she said, ignoring the minor spillage seeping through the picnic blanket.

Yamcha furrowed his brows as if she had said something to offend him. "You haven't been listening to anything I've talking about, have you?" He lay down, crossed his arms behind his head and gazed up at the sky, throwing occasional and hateful glances at Bulma.

"Erm …Yeah, I have, actually." She fidgeted on her buttocks uncomfortably, knowing she'd been caught out. What the hell was he talking about? Think, Bulma, think!

"What did I say then?" he said, grinning.

"You were talking about the Cell Games, and how it had changed your life," she said, blushing and failing to return eye contact.

"No, I said, have you seen Vegeta lately?" Yamcha sat up again, and watched Bulma while she thought of an appropriate answer. He didn't like prising into people's lives, but there was definitely something wrong with Bulma. But when was she ever fine? That girl hadn't been her normal self for years now. There was always a distance between them, a void. He knew well that he couldn't fill that void, and, regrettably, he knew damn well who could, but that guy didn't know how to treat a woman right even if it punched him in the mouth.

Bulma squinted into the sun light, and set Trunks down to crawl round and back over to Puar, who was now in her original form. "No, I haven't, really," she sighed, brushing her bangs back again, "he's always in his room, or at least I think he is."

"I respect the guy. He's been through hell, believe me," Yamcha reassured her, shuffling closer to her and putting his arm on her shoulder. Her shoulder was tense. "You know what? We should all go on vacation."

Galvanised by disbelief, Bulma's eyes widened and she pulled away from Yamcha so she could scrutinise him carefully. But, thinking about it, it seemed like a great idea. The sun, sand, cocktails, friends, laughter, and relaxation. That was exactly what she needed. Why hadn't she ever considered it before? Now that Trunks was practically one, it was ok for him to travel long distances, and he could clearly take a bit of sun shine without his skin burning to a crisp. Not that she would ever allow the slightest opportunity for the sun to put its scorching rays all over her baby boy. Sun factor fifty, every time.

"We could get Chichi and Gohan to come, and Krillin and Eighteen-" he said before being cut short.

"Eighteen? Why would we invite her?" Bulma said, peering at Yamcha from the corners of her eyes.

Yamcha laughed loudly, throwing himself back onto the grass with a thud. "Didn't you know? Oh, man, Bulma …"

Completely bewildered, she watched Yamcha as he sighed out the last of his laughter. Great, only a week had passed and she was already out of the loop. "Well, c'mon, you have to tell me now."

Again, Yamcha sat up, astounded that she didn't know about it already. Yeah, Bulma had changed, for sure. "Krillin asked Eighteen out on a date, and she said yeah … That's all thanks to my dating tips. I told him what to say," Yamcha said, grinning proudly and folding his arms across his chest in male triumph.

Bulma gasped, shook her head, and then shot a look of uncertainty at Yamcha. There had been many times when he had lied to her, so she'd look ridiculous. This could well be one of them. "… That's so weird. She's an android … How strange," she mused quietly.

Yamcha chuckled, "Yeah, like you and _Vegeta_ isn't weird."

Bulma rolled her eyes, "I think you're forgetting that 'me and Vegeta' is past tense."

"Yeah right."

"Yeah. _Right_," she said, sending Yamcha a piercing glare.

"He's all _depressed_ and _lonely_. It won't be long before you'll want to _hug_ him again. Y'know, make him _feel_ better," Yamcha said, chortling afterwards.

The urge to smack Yamcha really hard was making Bulma's hand feel tingly already, and she had to bite her tongue to contain the poisonous words that were waiting to lash out.

Breathing slowly, she closed her eyes, "I think otherwise, _bud_. Vegeta is impossible. He just needs to be left alone. It's what he wants." She shrugged, giving up on the tiresome subject of Vegeta. Wasn't she supposed to be relaxing? She couldn't deal with another migraine again. The last one left her in bed for an entire day, and there wasn't any time to be lounging around in bed, regardless of the agonising pain.

Now fiddling with a plastic fork, Yamcha felt the tension thickening the air and sucking up all the oxygen. It was as hot as hell. "I think he wants something else; why else would he be back?"

Bulma gawped, and then placed a finger to her chin, feigning a thought process. "Hmmm … I don't know, Yamcha. It might have something to do with the fact that he has a _son _who he wants to raise," she said, provoking both Trunks and Puar to stop eating their ice cream, and look over in surprise.

Holding his hands up in surrender, Yamcha laughed and leaned away, "alright, alright. Touchy subject … sheesh."

"Damn right it is," she pouted, "I don't even know where to start." Then she picked up Trunks again and watched as he pointed towards the single cloud that was floating aimlessly above them.

"He'll pull through," Yamcha uttered, catching Bulma's attention once more.

"Why so confident in Vegeta all of a sudden?" she thought aloud, rocking Trunks gently on her lap.

From beyond Bulma's shoulder, Yamcha could see the balcony that led to Vegeta's room, and from the last ten minutes of their conversation, he noticed Vegeta, standing at the railings, watching down on Bulma and Trunks. If the guy was going to stay, he had to start making an effort, and if his progression rate was stupidly slow then that would have to do. Bulma deserved a lot more than Vegeta, but it looked like Vegeta was the guy she wanted, which was hard to justify.

The battle with Cell was over. Fortunately for Vegeta, he now had the time to work towards being a decent father. Bulma was a determined woman, and she always got what she wanted in the end. She really deserved it.

Finally, Yamcha tilted his head and smiled, "just a hunch," and then poured himself and Bulma a glass of lemonade each.

* * *

><p>Bulma was sitting at the kitchen table, flicking through an interior designs catalogue, while her mother and Trunks were beside her looking through a cook book, gathering ideas for Trunks' birthday cake. Deep in the world of floral bed linen, and spotted curtains, Bulma was unaware of the, more or less, one-sided debate that was going on next to her.<p>

Sitting on Bunny's lap, Trunks was impatiently slapping his hand on every page of the book, without paying any really attention to what was going on, and before Bunny could even get a look in at what what on said pages.

"Now, dear, which one would you like, hm?" Bunny winced when he hammered the page with his fist, forcing a small squeak to sound from the loosening legs of the table. "But you can't have them all, Trunksie."

With a fair amount of effort, she peeled his hand away from the page, allowing her to turn and have a look at the next one, which thankfully had something she just knew he would love.

Trunks' eyes brightened when he caught sight of the gleaming blue train, with its beaming eyes and wide smile, "Choo, choo," he shouted, and Bulma finally looked up, smiling.

Bunny clapped, delighted, "Yes. Choo, choo, it is, then!"

"Choo, chooooo …" Trunks continued loudly, while Bunny closed the book and took a sip of tea, an accomplished smile on her face.

Like clockwork, Vegeta paced into the room, looking for food no doubt, and stared at Bunny. She got up from her seat immediately, thrusting Trunks over to Bulma, and then practically ran over to Vegeta like a sheep dog. There was just the thing for that young man, something she had been concocting all day.

Mini quiche!

"Ah, just the person," she said, briefly looking him up and down, then running over to the oven, pulling out a plate, and then running back over to him again. "Try these …"

At that moment, Bulma found very little entertainment with whatever was going on in front of her. It was like every other day, really. Vegeta would come down for food, receive a belly full of her mother's cooking, and then wander back up to his room where he wouldn't come down until the next day. She held Trunks tightly, but loosened one arm so she could descry the time on her watch. She sighed. It was nearly five thirty, already, and the day was dragging on. Life was way more exciting when the androids were terrorising the planet. Was it wrong to think that?

Vegeta squinted at the small, circular, presumably edible, things he was being offered. Food was food, so he quickly snatched the tray and picked several up, and crammed them into his mouth. After a couple seconds, he swallowed, sniffed, and frowned, while Bunny waited eagerly for the verdict from a prince.

They weren't terrible, he thought, as he picked the remnants out of his molars with his tongue, but he had tasted better cooking from this woman. But what was she staring at him for, now? Uneasy, he stepped backwards, not sure about the look on the older woman's face. All he wanted was a large quantity of food to get him through the rest of night, so he wouldn't have to leave his room again for another day. Now, it seemed, he was being harassed by this … this satanic female creature, who happened to cook extremely well, but wanted more from him. What in God's name did she want?

Bunny stepped closer and titled her head, trying to prompt a response from her favourite man – other than her husband, of course! "Which one do you prefer?" She clasped her hands together, as if in prayer.

"Neither. They're all foul," he said, chastising himself for the immediate defensive onslaught.

He could have merely said, 'none, thank you'. Who was he trying to fool? One thing he was picking out from the regular nightmares he was having was the repeated message of who he was, and that he should always remember that. Living with humans on a daily basis was, without a doubt, getting to him, and changing him so quickly that he was almost concerned about it. _Almost._

Bunny blinked, and obscurely waved her hand in the air, like a scientist who had just discovered a mind-blowing cure to a fatal illness. "More salt," she muttered to herself, taking the tray from Vegeta and racing back to the cupboards to ransack them.

Sadly, Bulma could no longer fight the urge to watch the latest debacle on her mother's behalf, but her curiousness resulted in her catching the unwanted attention of a, now, highly irritated man. He seemed to stare at her, like he was waiting for her to speak; like he wanted her to speak to him. Was that what he wanted? Or was she falling into the same hole – one which she had serious difficulty climbing out of. Oh, what the heck.

"Are you alright?" She smiled, despite being very aware that Trunks was currently demolishing her magazine with his chubby little fingers.

Her words were warm to him. He expected her to ask him that question, because she had only asked him that every Goddamn time she'd spotted him. Yet, he answered plainly, without aggression, or irritation in his voice. He answered in a way which obviously prompted her to continue asking him on a daily basis. Really, he didn't seem to mind. Only because that was all she seemed to do, now; ask him if he was alright, and when he'd say 'yes', that matter would be settled for another day. Oh, he was far from alright, though. It was clear. Even this woman could see it. But that didn't mean he had to go shouting about it. Being isolated from these ridiculous fools was all that mattered. When the time was right to train his son, he would, possibly, begin communicating with these … _people_. For now, he wanted nothing to do with them.

That did raise a question, though. Why was he still standing there?

"I'm fine," he mumbled, barely opening his mouth at all, and stiffened his shoulders.

Bulma's smile waned, "OK," and she looked down at her newly shredded magazine.

Flicking through to the fully intact pages, Bulma slowly allowed her mind to wander, while Trunks slowly drifted off to sleep on her lap, thumb in his mouth. Although while she was doing so, she knew Vegeta was still standing there, and she assumed he was watching either her or Trunks. It was becoming quite unsettling.

From under her eyelashes, she peered up, seeing that he was, in fact, frowning down at her.

"The T.V. is shit," he said, startling her.

Bunny froze, arms stretching high into the cupboards, and coughed loudly on behalf of the foul language in her household.

Bulma winced, and was thankful that Trunks was asleep, unable to hear the words falling out of his own father's mouth.

"Vegeta," she whispered, "don't swear in front of Trunks."

Swiftly returning back to the important matter, Vegeta grunted, "Hn. I've watched all of what this planet has to offer, and there isn't a single decent thing on."

She sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "There must be _something _you'd like to watch."

"There isn't."

"We have loads of films. You should be able to find something, really," she said, wistfully hoping that he would give up and stomp away like he usually did. It seemed like he was trying to make an effort this time. But Trunks was asleep, meaning there was no other reason why he would be hounding her.

Soon enough, they were staring at each other, like it was the most natural thing, but it wasn't, and Bulma could feel her skin tingling with the desire to run, or escape somehow. If she could just … get past him.

"Come with me," she said, groaning, getting up, and heaving Trunks along with her.

She lead him in to the living room, where the giant, seventy inch, plasma T.V was resting on the far wall, and next to it was an entire cabinet stacked with DVDs. Vegeta looked on warily, trying to reason with himself for making the idiotic decision to talk to her. Even considering it was foolish. He would get something decent to watch, and get out. The behaviour that he demonstrated over a year ago with Bulma was a shameful memory, for all he was concerned. Just the slight thought of considering anything like that again would surely bring on a bout of nausea. He was grateful that, for once, even in despite of the summer heat, she had chosen to wear clothing that didn't reveal much flesh. It must have been something to do with her age. She was definitely getting older …

The movement had roused Trunks from his very short winded rest, and so he began to struggle in Bulma's arms, desperately wanting her to set him loose, which she did without a fight. There had been a few times when she had underestimated the strength of her son, resulting in a swift hook to the jaw, or on the latest occasion, a wooden block to the chin. All of this was pretty standard for a half Saiyan child, and Bulma had learned to anticipate it. Still, punishment was definitely on the cards if anything got out of hand; no way was her child going to grow up acting like a spoilt brat.

Bulma shook her head from the thought, and sat on the floor, to commence rummaging for something that Vegeta might find a tiny, smidgen of a fraction, bit interesting. The first thing that came to mind was horror films, like Saw, and Hostel, but she could have sworn she had tried to get him to watch that stuff before and got very little reaction out of him, if any at all.

While Bulma continued to search, Vegeta sat down on the couch and watched the boy, who was also searching for something in a small, plastic, storage trunk. He nearly choked on his own breath when he spotted something pink being thrown out of the trunk, which landed inches away from his own foot. It looked fluffy, and it had huge blue eyes, staring up at him. He subtly used his foot to turn the thing over, so that it wouldn't stare any longer. Why in the world did the boy possess that pink creature, or whatever it was? Vegeta pondered over it, tempted to order Bulma to get rid of it before he vomits. Although, he could, in effect, just blast the damn thing right now if he wanted to.

Losing track of Trunks, who had now made his way over to Bulma with a DVD in hand, Vegeta mumbled his grievances to himself.

Trunks pulled on Bulma's jeans, and she stopped what she was doing to see what he wanted. He was holding on to a DVD, one of his favourites, and he was pointing to it, and then pointing to the T.V.

"Dis, dis, dis," he said, bouncing up and down impatiently.

"No, mommy is busy," Bulma said, taking the DVD and placing it on the coffee table, then resuming her search.

Within a couple of seconds, Vegeta watched as Trunks crawled over to the table, stood up, grabbed the DVD, and then _walked_ over to him. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, Vegeta shifted in his seat when Trunks finally made it to him, pushing the DVD into his shin bone.

"Dis …" he said sheepishly, looking up at Vegeta with what looked like a lot of promise in his eyes.

Sharply, he took the case from the child, and studied it closely. A heart attack was threatening to emerge at the site of the strange creatures, frolicking amongst fields with the greenest grass he'd ever seen. What the fuck …

"What the hell have you got him watching, woman?" he shouted, causing both Bulma and Trunks to flinch.

Bulma turned to see Vegeta holding a DVD of the Teletubbies. A sight she would hold on to forever. A sly grin emerged, "Oh, that? All the kids watch that. It's _educational_," she said, waving her hand dismissively.

"These creatures … Namekians?" He mumbled, slightly intrigued. Why on earth was the boy watching something educational about Namekians? Surely the green freak was near enough to demonstrate this educational field without him having to watch it on a screen. That didn't matter. Namekians had nothing, absolutely _nothing _that would be of use for a Saiyan child.

Bulma's fluttering laughter cut through Vegeta's thoughts, "No, they're Teletubbies. And I'm pretty sure you were being racist then, Vegeta."

"Fsh. Shut up," he clipped.

Patience was not something Trunks possessed, and pulling on his father's trousers seemed to be the only option left, because shouting wasn't getting anywhere.

Vegeta grimaced, "No, boy. Down," and he shook his leg.

"Vegeta! He's not a dog. He only wants you to put the Teletubbies on for him." Bulma glowered at Vegeta, who was holding the DVD out of reach from Trunks, and still shaking Trunks' grip loose from his trousers.

"I'm not putting this on," he said, immediately throwing the DVD, which hit the wall, landed and snapped open, allowing the disc flop out onto the floor.

It took a few seconds for Trunks to register what had happened to his favourite thing, and when they had passed, he bawled his eyes out and ran over to Bulma.

Bulma couldn't take her eyes off Vegeta, because right then, in that instant, a distressing memory cropped up. It was the time when he let her and Trunks fall to what could have been their deaths, and she was able to see the same look, the complete lack of remorse, which he had plastered on his face now. It was silly to relate such an action to what had happened, but she just couldn't help it.

Cradling Trunks, as he buried his head in her blouse, she continued to stare at Vegeta. The contact was mutual, and by the looks of it, he was struggling with something himself.

When he saw her with Trunks in her arms like that, almost defenceless, he felt a pang of guilt split through him, but why? It was like he was an onlooker. Not a part of this family, or this world she had created around her and the boy. But what stood out the most was the way she was protecting the child. Protecting Trunks from him. The shimmer in her eyes- the tears, just reminded him of the vital mistake he had made, only a few weeks ago. When he made the very conscious decision to let them die …

Vegeta stood up and left the room.

Bulma patted Trunks' back, and he slowly pulled his head away from the crook of her neck to check around and see if Vegeta had gone; tear stains streaked down his cheeks.

The evening was drawing in, as was Trunks' belated bed time, so dimming the lights and putting on the replacement Teletubbies DVD was all part of Bulma's ingenious plan to tire her baby out. Settling Trunks wasn't as stressful as it usually turned out to be, not when Bulma kept a small quantity of spare and replacement DVDs in a secret stash. Unfortunately, it looked like Trunks wasn't the least bit sleepy, and was happily clapping along to the high pitched jingle emanating from the T.V screen.

With Trunks sitting firmly on her lap, and nowhere else to turn, Bulma found that she too was feeling rather entertained by the crazy creatures on T.V. She checked her watch: 8:30pm. It was about high time that Vegeta came downstairs looking for something to eat again, because he didn't eat much before, other than the small dish of mini quiches her mother had given to him. Not enough to maintain a healthy, Saiyan diet.

Was it that she was preparing herself for yet another verbal spar? It wasn't that she was waiting for it, but it did occur to her that she had nothing else to do other than look after Trunks, and … Well, the rest is hard to explain.

Bulma smiled at her son, then looked over her shoulder towards the archway of the door leading out into the kitchen. The golden hue from the setting sun was just a frame, or a stage, awaiting Vegeta to grace it with his presence. It shouldn't be playing on her mind, like a song on a continuous loop, but the feelings she had for Vegeta were still very present, even after what he did to her and Trunks. It seemed that love was blind, after all.

Bulma was a grown woman, now, and pining after a man wasn't on the agenda anymore. Maybe five or ten years ago, but now, after everything: the near death experience, the fear of her son dying, the loss of her best friend to an evil monster, all things … considered. Life was not to be taken for granted.

Vegeta walked into the kitchen, and to his horror, he was able to hear the same tune which was blasting through his own bedroom walls. Sometimes he wished his Saiyan hearing wasn't as strong as it was. He winced.

_Over the hills and far away …_

What the hell? Was that some kind of sermon? Some sort of satanic spew that Bulma was trying to feed his son? Against his better instincts, he paced into the living room where he could see the back of Bulma's head, and the T.V screen, which had those bloody Namek, Telejubby things running around on the screen.

Staying where he knew he was safe, Vegeta rapped his fingers around the door frame, anxious for his son's wellbeing, "What in the world …" he said.

Bulma immediately whipped her head around and a broad smile graced her face when she saw who had returned. "You didn't think I only had one copy, did you?" She grinned slyly.

"I don't want my son watching this," Vegeta said, his face growing whiter at the sight of the blue alien with a God damn red handbag in its hands.

The grin on Bulma's face quickly dissipated, and she turned back towards the T.V, "Trunks likes this, and it quietens him down, which gives me a bit of peace, so it's staying on. Anyway, how's your quest for finding a decent film going on? Did you like the ones I left you?"

In the back of Vegeta's mind, he was thinking about how attractive she looked with the glow of the television on her face, and in the front, he was thinking about cutting her oxygen supply for supplying him with a film about dancing-fucking-penguins.

He snarled, "Idiotic. I haven't sat through a single one without wanting to die … again."

Bulma turned around and pouted childishly, "you clearly have no taste."

"They were all in terrible taste," he said, averting eye contact and almost pouting himself.

"What? Happy Feet is an amazing film. It makes me feel happy, anyway," Bulma shrugged.

"Whatever you're trying to do, woman, don't."

It had occurred to Vegeta that all of the films she had given him were sickly-happy, with upbeat music, and more disturbingly, singing animals. These films were not chosen by accident; it was no coincidence that every film had a song, or a brain engraving melody. Was his depression so blatant?

Bulma placed her arm on the top of the couch, sighed and gazed at Vegeta, "You just seem so down. And you look like you haven't slept in days," she said, scrutinising him.

"I'm fine," he said, stiffening and feeling overly self-conscious under her stare. Why couldn't she just carry on watching the T.V? He shouldn't have let his curiosity get the better of him again. But the boy.

Slowly, he edged to the right so that he was able to get a glance of Trunks, sitting on his mother's lap and watching the screen, as if he didn't know about his father's presence whatsoever. Completely absorbed, he was.

"You're fine," Bulma echoed with a hint of sarcasm, "Ok."

Then a thought presented itself, and Bulma got up, letting Trunks stay on the sofa (he was transfixed). There was one film which she knew Vegeta would find just a little bit interesting, and it happened to be one of her favourites, as well. It was right at the top of the cabinet, as it was a treasure to Bulma, one of the first DVDs she had watched with Yamcha all those years ago. It did have some sort of significance in her life, but she didn't quite know what. Anyway, she checked to see if Vegeta was still in the room (he was), and she clambered up onto the shelves to reach the highest, where she grabbed the DVD and jumped down again.

Lost for words, Vegeta gulped and stood idly by as she walked over to him.

"Here," she said, breathless, "this is one of my favourite films." The DVD was passed over, their fingers touching briefly in the exchange. Bulma's skin felt cold and she shuddered.

"I won't waste my time then." He smirked, and then examined the back of the case, frowning as he did so.

"I think you'll like it," Bulma smiled, and returned to Trunks on the couch.

Vegeta felt hesitant as he exited the room. One thing he did notice was the lack of motion from the boy. The child didn't even acknowledge his presence. It was an odd feeling-being ignored. It wasn't something he had been accustomed to. But being here, under this roof, with these people, was showing him many things that he wasn't used to. Waiting for the boy to grow was going to a treacherous ordeal.

* * *

><p>Bulma snorted, opened her eyes into blackness, and then reached for her alarm clock out of routine. When she twisted to see the time, the digits were telling her it was 2:00am, but it couldn't be. It felt like she had been asleep for hours and hours. Only three hours had passed?<p>

Her mouth felt a bit dry, so she decided to take a quick trip to the kitchen for a glass of water. On her way down the hall, she found it hard to ignore the faint muttering of voices coming from Vegeta's room. On the way back, glass in hand, she stood outside his bedroom door- where the door was left ajar—and stood at an angle where she could see him lying on his bed. The glow in the room suggested the T.V was on, and when she listened carefully, she could hear the distinct lines from 'Fight Club', at the very end of the film, when Edward Norton had the gun in his mouth.

She could never forget that Saiyans could sense energy moving from miles away, and with that in mind, she quietly stepped into his room, and was greeted by a quick shot of disdain. That look was for a split second, though. The rest of his attention was on the film, to Bulma's complete satisfaction.

Feeling smug, she leaned against the wall of his en-suite, and watched the end of the film. There was no protest, which made it all the more interesting.

Ten minutes later, the credits rolled down the screen, and Vegeta remained staring at them, while Bulma diverted her attention back to him. She crossed her arms, stood up straight, ready to leave, but she had to get some feedback first.

"Well?"

He cocked his head, "It was tolerable."

Bulma laughed, "You can keep that, y'know." She nodded her head towards the open case, which had obviously been thrown across the bed.

He looked at it, expressionless, but confused. "Why would I want to do that?" It was more of a statement than a question.

He wanted her out of his room. The memories that remain in this room were for him to deal with alone. If she turned up, they would only intensify and become real. Repression did not work.

"Because you like it, right?" she said.

Her eyes glimmered like crystals in the darkness.

Lying on the bed made him feel quite vulnerable. He blinked once, as bewilderment took over him. What was this woman trying to do, handing him her possessions? Knowing her, they would literally be possessed with some sort of witchcraft, luring him to her whenever she sees fit.

"I won't watch it again," he said, watching her closely, and crossing his arms.

"Maybe so," she shrugged.

Taking the case into his hands, he decided he had no further use for it, so it threw it aside, and it landed on the floor with a crack.

Bulma squeaked as she saw it clatter to the floor, "don't do that!"

He smirked, "I thought it was mine?"

"Yeah, but, look after it."

Then a silence settled between them, with Vegeta lying on his bed, and Bulma standing perfectly straight, watching him when she knew that they were both thinking about _that _incident again. If it was going to be like this for the entire time he stayed, it wasn't worth all the stress. One of them had to say something about it, but neither knew how. It was an unapproachable subject. But you know Bulma well by now, and nothing was impossible to her.

"Just answer me something, Vegeta," she gulped slowly, and wrapped her arms around her chest for warmth, and possibly security.

He sat waiting for the inevitable, wanting to tear out his hair and scream as loud as he could. The deafening cry of his youth (in his nightmares) was ringing in his ears, reminding him of the mistakes he had made; telling him that he should had killed them back when he had the chance. That's what it was. He was so unsure that he wanted them to live, but maybe if something happened to them, out of his control, then he wouldn't be responsible, and then the guilt wouldn't be gripping around his heart every time he saw this woman's face.

"Why didn't you save us?" Bulma continued, her eyes searching into his for a reason-an explanation. But all he did was look away. "I mean, I can understand you not wanting to save me, I get that, but Trunks was falling too-"

"I told you not to show up there. I told you I wouldn't protect you if you got in the way," he said, clenching onto the bed sheets.

Awaiting tears sat at the bottom of Bulma's eyes. Vegeta could smell the salt.

"But he's your son," she said, as one small tear dribbled down her cheek.

"I know he's my son!" Vegeta turned to face her, his veins pumping with fury, waiting to be unleashed on the closest living organism.

Bulma chocked on her tears, and doubted her own sanity when she heard the words tumble out of Vegeta's mouth. The passion was surfacing, and that was exactly what she needed to see. Nevertheless, it still didn't answer why he was so callous and cruel towards his own child. From the moment they clapped eyes, she knew that he didn't accept his son, but under the circumstances they were in, she just thought he would have changed. Yeah, he may be there now, but he was suffering greatly. It was only a matter of knowing the day when he would leave again. This time for good.

"I just don't get how a father could do that." She sobbed into her hands.

That was enough. She had come in here on purpose. He knew it. Just to make him feel like shit, even more so. But it was her, who brought them both into danger, regardless of him warning her. The hatred for this woman was growing deeply, and rapidly.

He pointed at her, "If you wouldn't have been so careless as to take a child onto the battle field in the first place, then it would never have happened," he shouted.

Bulma broke down completely, covering her face with her hands and sobbing out her response. "I know. I was stupid. I regret what I've done, and believe me, that decision will haunt me for the rest of my life." Gradually, she took her hands away from her face, which was now wet and covered in red blotches.

He had never seen her that upset before. The sight was unusual and hard to comprehend. He looked away.

Bulma continued, "If Trunks hadn't have saved us-"

"But he did," Vegeta clipped. "I was too busy trying to save this blasted planet, to be watching out for your mistakes."

Bulma knew that, at the time, he wasn't concerned about the welfare of the planet, at all. It was about his pride, all the time. So selfish and unaware of the pain he caused for others. Now that pain had run a circle and come back to him. Was it bitter to feel a bit of justice?

But Vegeta knew he had failed. It was the wrong place at the wrong time. Of course he regretted not saving them, now. What sort of father would that be?

"What are you doing here, Vegeta?" Bulma asked, rubbing the wetness from her face with the sleeve of her nightgown.

His eyes widened, baffled by her question. Not the question itself, but why she felt like she had to ask it. When he looked back at her, and saw how upset she was, he knew even more so that he had to stay for the sake of the boy.

Bulma was beginning to feel dizzy. Her vision was becoming blurry and dotted, and there was a dull throb tapping against her skull. It was another migraine. To prevent it, she exhaled slowly, and then inhaled even slower.

"Leave now," Vegeta said, sensing her energy level decreasing again.

But she wasn't ready to leave. There was still a matter they had to discuss. "You really want to train Trunks?" She had a palm to her forehead, and was looking at him through squinted eyes.

What the hell was wrong with this woman?

"Six months, Vegeta. Then you can train him," she said, and then left the room, frowning in pain.

Vegeta sat there for a few moments, stunned.

He then switched of the T.V and thought about what was going on in his life at that present moment. For one, he was slightly curious as to what was going on with Bulma, and why she was suffering. Was it due to looking after the boy all the time? Was she ill? Would she die? Then he'd be left to look after Trunks.

An overwhelming surge of solemnness was in his mind when thinking about Bulma in pain. He really couldn't make his mind up about that woman. Was she tolerable, or not? Could he live with her for the next six months or more? All these decisions to make … And six months! What the hell was he going to do for six months? But, if he was able to get the time limit down to six months in, what, a day? He had a feeling that the boy would be willing to train in the next month or so.

That woman was lucky he was willing to wait anyways.

Staring at the blank screen, he thought some more about the weeks ahead. He supposed that the time ahead would present an ideal opportunity to at least _bond _with the boy.

But how would he approach _that_ matter?


	3. Big News

Igniting the Fire

Chapter Three

* * *

><p>"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TRUNKS."<p>

The group stood in a semi-circle in the kitchen, gathered around the table, where, in the centre was a huge 'Thomas the Tank Engine' cake with a single candle glowing in the middle – right in Thomas' eye. Trunks was being gradually lowered towards the candle by Bulma, in the hopes that he would blow the candle out, but so far all he had managed to do was laugh and clap his hands from the disillusion that he could fly. Krillin and Yamcha also found this entertaining, whereas Bulma was growing impatient and tempted to blow the thing out herself. No, it was Trunks' first birthday, and he _would _blow his candle out. To Bulma, this was grossly important. So when she saw Roshi step up to the plate and wave his walking stick so quickly above the cake that a gust of wind extinguished the tiny flame, well, she wasn't overly pleased.

"Roshi," she yelled, "I don't remember it being your birthday, jerk." She sighed and decided that an early retirement was necessary, and the continuation of Trunks' clapping certified that he wasn't fussed about the whole debacle anyway.

Everyone clapped briefly, then returned to chat amongst one another while Bulma and Bunny cut the cake and assigned the right pieces to the right guests. Obviously Gohan was in need of an extra helping, being of Saiyan blood and whatnot, but everyone else, regardless of protest, was handed an equal sized slice. Bulma plated up a generous slice and hopelessly placed it in the fridge. Just in case.

I bet you were wondering where Vegeta was, then. Well, there was no telling. Bulma didn't know either. It had been a week, and she more or less assumed he'd left again, with no clue when he'd return. But that didn't matter. Today was about Trunks, and all of her friends were there (minus Goku, of course) to celebrate his first birthday. She wouldn't forget that.

The party felt strange without Goku, Bulma thought, as she walked back over to her friends, smiling at Trunks and her dad on her way to the other end of the Kitchen. She could just see it in Chichi's eyes that Goku's loss had taken a massive chunk out of her life, and her soul. But what could Bulma do? There was no way to comfort her, no effective way, anyway. Bulma had only felt the loss of Yamcha once, and as treasured as Yamcha was, she couldn't begin to compare that loss with a husband and father of her children. The thought of Vegeta dying, would crush her to the ground. There was no telling how she'd react after that, or whether she'd be able to carry on. Sure, the Bulma in the future seemed to cope just fine, but she felt that now she had formed some sort of weak connection with Vegeta. Weak as it may be, it was still very present, and she could feel it every day.

While deep in thought, Bulma didn't expect Chichi to catch her blank gaze and curiously make her way over. When their eyes met, Bulma knew that there was something hidden beyond them.

"Can I talk to you … In private?" Chichi said, casting glances around the rest of the group in case any of them had heard.

Instantly, Bulma placed a comforting hand on Chichi's shoulder. "Yeah, of course. What's wrong-"

"Bulma, I've been looking online at some really awesome places to go on vacation. You've got to see some of these resorts," Yamcha said, unaware of the discretion between Bulma and Chichi.

Bulma shrugged at Chichi and mouthed 'just a minute', to which Chichi nodded slowly, frowned at Yamcha, and walked over to where Gohan, Krillin and Eighteen were standing.

Bulma waited until she was out of ears way, and then turned to Yamcha, clasping her hands together in a very Bunny-like manner. "Oh my God, you have to show me them. This is so exciting, I haven't been on vacation in ages," she said.

"I know, you can tell," Yamcha said, smirking and awaiting a thump from Bulma.

"Jerk!" And she playfully punched him in the arm, cracking a few of her knuckles in the action.

"Hey, we're all getting older …" He smirked again. "But listen, I've found this great place we can stay in Barbados. You know: five stars, all inclusive, pool, beach view …"

Bulma's eyes widened with delight after each word Yamcha said. Granted, the prospect of a vacation was a little daunting at first, but after all the grim happenings, and especially how Vegeta has been stressing her out, it was growing more appealing by the minute. She just had to think of the cocktails, and the sunshine! Oh, and all her friends were going to be there.

"Have you spoken to everyone else about this?" she said, looking over her shoulder at the rest of the gang, paying close attention to Piccolo, who somehow, she couldn't quite picture walking around on a beach in a pair of swim shorts …

It also occurred to her that none of the others had even mentioned the holiday, and she felt guilty to be feeling suspicious towards Yamcha.

Yamcha smiled. "Not yet, no. I want to get the perfect location first, and then we'll let everyone in on it." He laughed a bit, but kept a close eye on Bulma's reaction, which was moving through confusion and suspicion.

"Good, 'cause I don't want it to just be me, you and Trunks. Where would the fun be in that?" she said, punching Yamcha in the arm again, and turning round to find Chichi.

She was easy to spot when her voice was booming above the rest of the chatter. It looked like she was having another heated debate with Krillin about how to take a woman on a proper date, and how to treat her right. Not that Krillin wasn't doing so, but then again, Eighteen couldn't necessarily be classed as a 'proper woman', could she?

Bulma wedged her way between Chichi and Krillin before someone else took an early trip to Otherworld, and she then pulled Chichi aside.

"So, hey, what did you want to talk about?" she said, looking around for any eves droppers.

Chichi's mouth looked dry and she spluttered before she spoke. "Oh, it doesn't matter-Really", she said, affirming with a nod and slinking away to join the others again.

Standing with her mouth agape, Bulma watched Chichi in disbelief for a few seconds, when Yamcha crept up beside her again, scaring her half to death.

"So, Bulma, let's get to a computer and I'll show you the resort," he said, elbowing her and nodding his head towards the stairs.

She was still getting over Chichi's unusual behaviour to be thinking about holiday resorts, but clearly Yamcha wasn't going to let it drop until she went and had a look, so she scanned the room for Trunks, who was with her dad, stuffing his face with cake. But someone was missing from the room. Someone old, wrinkly and perverted …

"Wait, where's Roshi?" she said, raising an eyebrow from the new discovery.

Yamcha looked around. "I dunno, I think he went upstairs before," he shrugged.

"I told everyone that upstairs was strictly forbidden, especially to Roshi."

"Yeah, he mentioned something about going to your room-" he said, flinching.

"What! And you didn't think to tell me this? Yamcha!"

Within a heartbeat, Bulma ran out the room at the speed of an Olympic athlete, or a blood thirsty lioness, muttering the word 'creep' and other obscenities about the turtle hermit.

Yamcha stayed in the kitchen, and just laughed before joining the group again.

Only a few minutes had past when Master Roshi appeared in the kitchen with his glasses hanging off his face, and blood dripping from his nose.

"Woo hoo, she's a feisty one, alright!" And before he could gain a response, he was thumped on the top of the head again by Bulma who had followed him closely.

"That'll teach you to go through my underwear draw, you dirty old man," she said, folding her arms and storming ahead of him, very proud of herself.

Everyone laughed and cheered Bulma as she approached, whereas she acted as if she couldn't hear the applause and headed straight over to Trunks who was now sitting in Bunny's lap while she read him 'The Jungle Book' – not that he was listening.

She picked him up and wiped his cake smeared mouth with her thumb, and then wiped the residue on a tissue, while he clapped and waved his arms around. Eighteen subtly walked over to Bulma's side, again nearly causing an early heart attack.

"I could kill him if you want," Eighteen said, not making any eye contact with Bulma, but staring at Roshi as he rubbed the new lump on his head.

Bulma was speechless for a moment, and don't get her wrong, she had thought about doing that herself. Also, Eighteen would have been very capable of doing that job for her, saving her the hassle. But then she stopped thinking about Roshi's death, and thought about the fact the Eighteen had attempted to converse with her. Could she say she was flattered? The android hadn't spoken to anyone since she'd arrived with Krillin four hours ago, and now she was speaking to Bulma?

"Um, you know what, I think having him alive is more fun," she said, grinning.

For a moment, Eighteen's eyes widened and darted to Bulma's face to check for sincerity.

"Using him as an occasional punch bag is a good way to relieve stress, you know?" Bulma smiled, and was unsure whether to nudge Eighteen in the side or not.

No, way too soon.

Surprisingly, Eighteen smirked, then her face dropped again. "That's understandable when you have _him _living with you," she said, her eyes shifting.

Bulma followed her line of vision, and her eyes landed on Vegeta, who was scowling at the sight of all her friends congregated where he usually came for food. She gulped and waited for him to look at her, but she discovered that she'd be waiting for a long time, because he snarled, spun on his heels and headed back out the door, supposedly to fly off for another couple of weeks.

High with adrenalin, Bulma ran over to Bunny and handed Trunks over, before she ran outside, leaving Eighteen to roll her eyes with disgust.

Stupid as the action may have seemed, but Bulma was determined to see what was going on inside that guy's head. A week since she argued with him, it had been. A week! If he was supposed to be making a fresh start with Trunks, then he wasn't going the right way about it. Disappearing constantly was not the most effective way of earning your son's love and trust, now, was it?

Vegeta was walking quite casually across the lawn when Bulma made it outside. He didn't know where he was headed. Somewhere with access to something edible. He could hunt for something, but he'd been doing that all week and was tired of eating dinosaur meat. It was Bunny's cooking that he craved, and there was no way in hell he was going to grace that house with his presence when all of those circus freaks were there.

"Vegeta, wait," Bulma said, jogging towards him.

He didn't think to stop for her, and continued down the lawn. There was the option of flying away-

"Vegeta, please," she said, and stopped.

He stopped, allowing her to persuade him, or reason with him, or whatever she thought would be beneficial to him.

It was getting dark outside, the temperature was dropping significantly, and Bulma had a summery day-dress on, with flip flops. Not a great choice of clothing. But, hey, at least it wasn't a rabbit costume. A shudder prickled its way down her spine at that memory.

Then there was the matter of Vegeta. But she had no time to muse over reasons. Obviously the man was prepared to fly off again, and for some reason Bulma thought she'd be able to deter him from doing so. What was it about that guy that made her keep trying?

"Why do you – no, I'm not going to argue … Come back inside, Vegeta," she said to the back of his head.

"Why are those fools here?" he said, turning round to look at her.

Damn, he wished he hadn't looked at her. Why did he look at her? And what the hell did she have on this time? Not much … again. He gulped slowly and took in her frame and subtly as he could.

Bulma tapped her foot, secretly pleased with the attention she was getting, but still pretty pissed off about the way he had addressed her friends. "Those _freaks _are my friends, and it's Trunks birthday, so we're celebrating."

"Fsh. I should have known it was another pointless ritual you earthlings seem to obsess over," he said, folding his arms and frowning.

"There's nothing obsessive about wanting to celebrate my son's birthday, Vegeta," she said, also folding her arms, defiantly.

"Oh, of course. So planning it weeks prior isn't the least bit obsessive to you?" he remarked.

"Listen …" she pointed at him, then sighed and dropped her arm to her side. "Look, I want you to join us. Well, I want you to be there."

He narrowed his eyes." What you want in not my concern," he said, looking her up and down once more.

"Ok, if you won't for me, do it for Trunks. It's his birthday, after all." She looked at the ground as a way of evading the scrutiny.

"I'm not socialising with any of them," he said, his eyes roaming over her hair as it draped across her shoulders. It was getting longer again.

"I'm not asking you to, Vegeta," she said, lifting her head.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them for a moment, while Vegeta thought about which option would be better for him. If it was the boy's earth birthday, then he should attend the gathering, but only for the boy. There would be no exception of conversation for the woman-

"There's loads of food to be eaten," Bulma said, with a flicker of a smile.

She couldn't ignore the state that Vegeta was in. More apparent because he was wearing normal clothing; the jeans were ripped and covered in dirt, and the sleeves of his shirt had been torn off. He resembled a rebellious teen. Bulma wondered if he had had a shower, or a wash, even.

He started towards her, and instead of walking around her, he stopped directly in front of her and looked right into her eyes.

Bulma froze and her throat felt as if it was closing up, stopping any oxygen getting into her lungs. All the hairs on her arms stood erect, and goose pimples dotted them. Why was this man still able to do this to her? Maybe he was right about the human race being pathetic because she felt it right at that moment.

"Step aside," he said, smirking.

Quite out of character, Bulma stepped aside, watched as he walked inside, and then followed in behind him. What a weird guy. That was old news, granted. But the odd behaviour always stood out to her. Perhaps she should ignore it, like everyone else seemed to do. That's what she could never understand. None of her friends ever fussed over Vegeta like she did, so then why did he always assume they would pester him for his attention. He must have forgotten what planet he was on, and that his royal status was non-existent on earth.

The room formed a dead silence when Vegeta entered. There was only Piccolo, Krillin and Yamcha stood in the kitchen, but they clipped their conversation when they realised the almighty prince had walked back in. Being a bit tipsy, Krillin chuckled the silence off and greeted Vegeta with a friendly wave, and the prince looked for a couple of seconds, making Krillin sweat (not in the good way) and pull his collar loose.

"Er, guys, I'm just gunna check and see what Eighteen is doing, yeah …" he said, and scuttled away.

Yamcha raised his beer bottle. "You get her champ." He 'wooped', and immediately brought his bottle back down when he saw Vegeta staring at him.

It only took a few seconds for Yamcha to realise that he and Piccolo had nothing in common at all, thus he decided to follow Krillin into the living room, when Piccolo sighed and knew he'd have to follow the same path. He wasn't going to stay with Vegeta – couldn't stand the guy, being partly responsible for his death those years ago.

Bulma ushered Vegeta over to the kitchen table, where there was a few plates of quiche, chicken legs, and some other strange looking things that she had yet to taste. As she did so, Eighteen slunk in from the front door, and decided that the kitchen counter was a decent enough place to wait for the rest of the night. Let's face it, she didn't really like anyone there anyway, it wasn't like she was going to communicate with any of them.

Upon this arrival, Vegeta plonked his plate back on the table, and didn't hesitate to approach the mysterious android. He thought she was wasted; done, scrap metal. He thought wrong obviously. But after what that bitch did to him, and his _pride_, he'd be surprised if was able to fight the urge to blast her right there.

She smirked when he reached her, their noses almost touching. "Android. What possessed you with the stupidity to show your face here?"

Bulma sighed in misery. He just couldn't let it go, could he? He had to ruin everything. She vouched for watching it play out, and let him get it out of his system. There were no more threats, so there shouldn't be any reason for anymore conflict, especially not at her son's birthday party.

"I'm with Krillin, little monkey-man ," she said, flicking her hair off her shoulder and rolling her eyes.

Vegeta's face went blank. "What? Cue ball?"

He noticed a pink hue on her cheeks just then, and wondered how she was even able to blush. She didn't have blood, did she? He blinked, speechless. What was wrong with that idiot? Making relations with a robot. He shook his head , and turned away, thinking it wasn't so bad that he hadn't already eaten because he would have vomited right then.

Bulma loosened the tension in her shoulders a bit, and looked up at the ceiling, hoping the day would wind down a bit quicker, as a twinge of pain pulled in her head, and that only meant one thing. A quick rest was in order. Her guests wouldn't mind if she went up to her room for half an hour, would they. That was all she needed.

Vegeta plated up his mound of food, and thought about which room would be the safest and furthest away from all the morons. Judging by the noise, he guessed that they had moved into the dining room, presumably drinking their body weights in alcohol. Pathetic. He would never touch the stuff again, not after what it did to him the last time. Yet another regretful memory.

The only reason why he was there was for Trunks, so where was the brat? The least he could do was see the child, and see what he was doing. Carefully, he closed his eyes to search for the boy's energy level. He didn't know how to react upon finding that he was with Kakarot's boy, the same boy who had saved _his_ life. The same boy who defeated Cell ...They were somewhere down the other end of the building, and Vegeta made the rash decision to grab his plate and venture down there to check out the situation. He'd be damned if Gohan was teaching his son fighting techniques before he did. That would be it then. There'd be no reason for him to stay.

As he quickened his pace down the corridor, he nearly collided with Kakarot's harlot, and he clutched his plate of food to his chest protectively. Although, food didn't seem particularly interesting when he had this woman standing in front of him, with watery eyes, and grey skin.

Chichi sniffled, and didn't stop for Vegeta to judge her any longer. But it was too late. When she looked up at Vegeta, and saw his eyes flitter over her stomach and then back to her face, she knew he knew what she didn't want him or anybody else to know.

He had little care for the matter, though, and was partly distracted by the loud clatter coming from the next room down. So Gohan _was_ showing his son how to fight. God damn that blasted child! Vegeta stepped aside and strode on through to a room he hadn't been in before, but looked very familiar to him. In fact, it was almost an exact replica of the living room, only this room had that sickening pink colour splashed across the wall. It looked as if Bulma had accidently handed a paint brush to Kakarot, and let him loose in this room.

He looked over to where the noise was coming from, and saw Gohan sitting on the floor next to Trunks, who was clapping and throwing wooden blocks up into the air, while Gohan was trying to create some type of wooden tower for him. Idiots. That was their idea of fun? Vegeta saw the sofa and sat down on it, and ate his food in silence; observing the closely and noting the monotony of the game they were playing. Basically, Gohan would build a stack of blocks, Trunks would wobble into it and knock it down, and then clap at the destruction. Vegeta supposed Trunks was somewhat similar to himself. Laughing at destruction.

One thing he hadn't failed to notice was the lack of acknowledgment from either of them. He wasn't bothered, obviously, but he did wonder why. And, he was a little disturbed as to why his son was wearing nothing but a diaper. Was that also some sort of 'birthday' ritual? To walk around half naked? Mind you, Saiyan spawn never wore clothing until they were taught how to fight, which, when he was a child, was at the age Trunks was at now.

Finishing off the last of his food, Vegeta dumped the plate on the floor, and started to feel a heaviness in his eyes. It wasn't long before he lost his battle to sleep, and drifted off to the strangely comforting sounds of his son laughing away with Gohan.

* * *

><p>Vegeta awoke, very abruptly, to the feel of something prodding him somewhere. When he came to a bit more, the feeling, he could locate, was in his ribs, and quickly he sat up, in what was now a very dark room, and he looked down. It was Trunks, pressing a DVD case into him, and trying to rouse him out of slumber. Well it worked, and now he wasn't very amused, with a head ache and blurred vision. He stared at the, still, half naked child, and allowed him to continue to prod the case into him while he tried to justify the situation he was in.<p>

"Dis, dis, dis …" Trunks said, now ramming the DVD into Vegeta, and pin-pointing the exact spot to cause him slight discomfort.

Vegeta flinched and snatched the case away from Trunks to stop the infernal babbling. Again, he saw that the DVD was labelled the 'Teletubbies', with a picture of all of them posing suggestively on the front cover.

Good God …

He shifted his speculative gaze onto his son, and sighed. "No, you know damn well what happened the last time, kid." And he put the DVD down beside him, and began feeling the tufts of hair on the back of his head, which had become quite dishevelled from lounging back on the sofa for who knows how long.

Then, out of nowhere, Vegeta felt a small burst of energy, and his eyes instantly reverted back to Trunks, who was standing up, making him level with Vegeta's biceps, and he was clenching his little fists, frowning at his father.

"Dis," he said, lobbing the DVD onto Vegeta's empty lap, and staring at Vegeta intently.

Remarkably so, Vegeta's mouth remained clamped shut as he assessed what was going on with the child. Never had he seen the boy act like that around Bulma, so why did he think it was ok to do so in front of him? The boy clearly had no respect; Vegeta didn't know whether to be more fascinated by the energy level currently being displayed. That was _his _son, who was still exceptionally young, but could raise his ki to a level that almost surpassed cue ball's? Well, he was very surprised.

Vegeta looked at Trunks, then back at the DVD, then back at Trunks again, and contemplated what to do. He was still tired, so maybe if he put the damn Teletubbies on, the boy would leave him alone. But where was Bulma? Wasn't it her job, to look watch the brat at all times?

Trunks' energy waned, and he dropped into a sitting position, looking exhausted and defeated. Seeing this, Vegeta swiped up the DVD and proceeded to put it on. What was the worst that could happen? He didn't have to sit there and watch it with him, did he?

But after twenty minutes or so, Vegeta couldn't help but stare at the enchanting creatures, feeling a mixture of disgust and marvel. And before he knew it, an hour had passed, and Trunks was sitting on the sofa right beside him, so transfixed that Vegeta bet if he accidentally blasted the wall beside him, the child wouldn't flinch or bat an eye. Basically, the boy was being brainwashed, which Vegeta did not condone at all, but there was something about the pink custard in that show that intrigued him greatly.

"As much as I know you're enjoying this, it's way past Trunks' bed time," Bulma said, leaning against the door frame in her dressing gown, and trying to stifle her grin with the back of her hand.

Vegeta's head whipped round, like an animal caught in the car headlights, and watched as Bulma advanced over to Trunks, who was now shuffling on his buttocks away from her and closer to Vegeta, shaking his head with disapproval.

"C'mon Trunks, it's sleepy time," Bulma said, trying her hardest not to let the glee merge across her trained look of disdain.

She knew, though, that she had just walked in on Vegeta and her son, spending time together, and more shockingly, watching the Teletubbies. She was so happy that she could cry, but right then, she needed to get Trunks to bed otherwise he would be mad cranky in the morning.

Everyone had left over an hour ago, but she hadn't thought to check up on where Vegeta had gotten to because she just assumed he would be grazing in his room, like usual. As far as she knew, Gohan was minding Trunks while she had a nap, which did her the world of good, and then Trunks was with her mother.

Bulma outstretched her arms and leaned over the sofa to try and grab Trunks, but Trunks had other plans, and he clambered onto Vegeta's lap, leaving the prince panic-strickened and unable to move.

"No, Trunks. Get off Daddy," Bulma ordered, and shuffled her way around to the front of the sofa.

By now Trunks had a firm grip on Vegeta's arm, and Bulma didn't think twice but to grab her baby and attempt to prise him away from the petrified prince. It was a pathetic sight, really. Just when things were looking up.

Bulma yanked hard, and stumbled on her slippers, allowing the opposing force of Trunks to throw her forward into Vegeta. Luckily, she regained her balance by pressing her shins hard into the base of the sofa, leaving her inches away from Vegeta's face. This time, the tips of their noses brushed against each other, and Bulma stopped pulling, and stared into Vegeta's wide eyes, waiting for him to move.

Trunks wriggled beneath her, almost squashed between his parents, but she ignored that when she could almost taste Vegeta's breath, sending her back to a place she longed to be.

Vegeta stared into Bulma's eyes for what seemed like minutes before she retreated, and easily pulled Trunks into her arms. He didn't know why, but he felt trapped. Not physically, but he felt unable to act, speak, or even think. Thoughts eluded him after that, as he watched her carry his son out of the room; the boy's arms flailing in protest.

"Right, young man, bed time," Vegeta heard Bulma say, as she paced off and out of the room, followed by the loud shrieking of Trunks.

Despite only just realising, Vegeta knew that Bulma was beginning to struggle to control the boy, and what with his power increasing rapidly every day, it wouldn't be long before Trunks would accidentally hurt her or maybe even kill her. He didn't know why, but he didn't like the idea of her dying just yet, not when the boy was so dependent on a mother figure. In a year, Trunks wouldn't need her, but right now, she was necessary … to the brat.

Relieved and allowing the tightness in his chest to loosen again, Vegeta exhaled and threw his arms behind his head, and listened to the muffling sound of crying from upstairs.

He felt kind of relaxed at that moment. The sleep had done him rather well, and he had managed to sleep without the nuisance of a nightmare, which was positive. He could have gone as far as saying he was content, but that would be a lie nonetheless. He wondered when he would be able to sleep again, and whether he should even attempt it or not. Was it worth trying now? When he was still dreary and waned from the close encounter with the woman? It was worth a try.

He sauntered up the stairs and headed for his room, passing the door, which had been coincidentally left open, where Bulma was leaning over Trunks' crib, looking down with adoration in her eyes. The crying had stopped, and was replaced by the sound of high-pitched chimes, concentrated in some kind of dial, which was swinging above the crib.

Bulma spotted Vegeta, who was standing awkwardly in the door way with a lack of expression. She stepped away from the crib, pulled the ties of her nightgown tight, and walked over to see what was up with him. It was unusual for him to have followed her, only unless he wanted something specific. A dark thought swept across her mind that made her twitch as a way of removing it. But he did look particularly attractive at that moment, when she ignored the tattered clothes, and dirty skin. Still, there was something very appealing.

Slowly, she shuffled over the door way and closed the door gently behind her. Then she looked up at Vegeta, quizzically.

"Vegeta … You OK?" she said, looking him over to check for any abnormalities.

A moment passed and he thought whether to answer her or not—or just walk away. Why did she have to throw the same questions at him every time he saw her?

"Of course I'm OK," he snapped back, and looked in the direction of his room, estimating how much distance he would have had to have walked if he'd just ignored her. There was that trapped feeling again. He didn't owe this woman anything, so why did he feel, feel …Guilty?

As he recalled, she was the reason he had to escape the damn place, because she had to go poking her nose into the reasons behind his actions again. The thought of that night made him feel tremulous with anger.

"Oh, you just look, well, stressed," she said, looking at him imploringly.

"Ha, speak for yourself."

"Yeah, I know I look like hell," she sighed and pulled her hair from the back and over one shoulder. "It's been a long day."

It had. That wasn't a lie.

Vegeta grunted a response and turned his body, being completely fed up with the tireless conversation. Every time he was around Bulma, he felt increasingly irritated. And every time he saw her, it was like she had forgotten their last bout of aggravation and she had forgiven him. He didn't need forgiving and he certainly did want to be forgiven. It wasn't in his nature to be forgiven, because usually, his victims wouldn't have the time to do so. Yet, this woman was still alive, for now. No, he hadn't planned on killing her. He just didn't know _what_ to do about her.

"Hey, did you happen to speak to Gohan today?" Bulma said.

Vegeta stopped and cocked an eyebrow, curious with the strange question. "No."

"It's just, he was acting really weird … Come to think about it, so was Chichi," she said, musing into thin air, then looking at Vegeta again.

He crossed his arms and huffed. He couldn't believe that she was so naïve. "That's because Kakarot's woman is carrying another one of his putrid spawn."

Bulma's mouth dropped open. "Re-ally?" And she ran over to Vegeta to make sure he wasn't lying.

He grimaced from her eagerness to invade his space, and rather than speak (because he'd forgotten how to, somehow), he gulped and nodded slowly.

Dropping back, Bulma's eyes roamed across the corridor for an answer. "Oh my God. Why didn't she say anything to me?" she said, looking at Vegeta. "I have to call her … No, It's late. I should leave it, right? Yeah, I'll sleep it off, then call her first thing in the morning—or I could go round …"

Deciding he'd had enough, Vegeta walked away and left her to her own deluded thoughts. Crazy woman. But he was stopped again, when he was literally inches away from sanctuary.

"Thanks for sticking around today. I know it made Trunks happy," she said, smiling gently.

Keeping his back turned, Bulma only saw him shrug his shoulders, and then continue off down the corridor. Feeling quite perky with information, Bulma had no intention of resting for the night. There was a new science magazine she had yet to take a look at, and maybe write down a few notes and ideas—nothing too stressful.

Then there was Vegeta; the thought of him made her smile. Her hope in him was growing, but she didn't want to rely on it too much, as he had the tendency to vanish. Actually, she wouldn't have been surprised if she'd followed him to his room and found the balcony door wide open and his presence gone again. But that thought didn't plague her mind much anymore. Even if he would disappear, he would always come back. It had been done many times, who's to say that's just the way he was, and that's his way of dealing with things.

Either way, her concern for Vegeta was diminishing; there were too many things going on in her life for her to focus all her time on worrying where he goes all the time. That didn't mean she didn't have a burning desire to run into his arms every time she saw him. She'd just learnt to control it well. How much she wanted to Vegeta to care about her was a totally new level. But until today, she had very little doubt that Vegeta could care for anyone but himself. It seemed he had a soft spot for someone else.

So what was there to look forward to? Oh, yeah. The holiday with the gang. Bulma knew that was bound to be awesome; she had hundreds of ideas for when she returned to work; Vegeta was progressing with Trunks, very slowly, but still … and there was something else …

Bulma squinted, and then she remembered.

Chichi was pregnant!


	4. Fear

Igniting The Fire

Chapter Four

* * *

><p>When a musty, blue fog hung on the ceiling of Vegeta's room, he knew that it only meant one thing. Another nightmare. It was right on schedule, like clockwork, the same nightmare twisting itself around his neck until he screamed so loud that consciousness would free him. But he was only free for a short period of time, then the nightmares would return. There had been the option of not sleeping at all, but he'd only lasted seventy two hours before his exhaustion caught up with him again, and there was nothing remotely interesting to do on this hell hole, so sleep was only inevitable. He couldn't begin to contrive his way out of the nightmare, as he'd always manage to rope himself into the happenings so tight, and then he wouldn't want to leave. He'd only know that his reality was in fact worse. When he awoke, he didn't know whether to feel relieved, or sombre, knowing that yet another day without purpose was waiting ahead of him; yet another day of 'what would you like to eat, Vegeta', and 'Vegeta, are you OK'? Granted, he was used to that treatment back on his own planet. But he was a prince then, the strongest being ever known, feared by millions. Even his own father feared what he was capable of, and Vegeta was somewhat proud of that fact. But, then, if the man was so scared of him, then why was he constantly plaguing his dreams?<p>

Vegeta was sitting up in, what looked like, his bed, and was looking around at, what looked like, his room. When his eyes acclimatised, he could see the same silhouette of the same ghost he'd been seeing for the past couple of months. What did he want? And why did he think Vegeta was capable of doing anything in his condition? What a fool!

His father was standing facing him, his black demonic eyes reaching across as Vegeta sat idly in his bed; only craving a dreamless sleep. There had been times when he thought that the dreams where in fact reality and that his father was an apparition, who had come to warn him. But the man talked bollocks, and something, just something, wasn't right about him. Each time he appeared there was a change in his appearance, voice, and mannerisms. Nothing could be exact, but Vegeta had a hunch.

"So, boy, I see you're going soft," the king said, keeping just the right amount of distance from Vegeta, so that only half of his face was visible by the bleached moon light.

The accusations were becoming more comical each time, yet tiresome all the same. They were too monotonous, these talks, and too repetitive in the same way as a dreaded tooth examination. Each time his father appeared, something else, new information, would also appear when it was too late to patch it up. Vegeta wondered how he knew of all this information; then again, he was based on his own subconscious, and was definitely not real. It was only natural for his own mind to torment him to no end.

"I thought I told you to leave," Vegeta said, assuming that if he was in control of his own thoughts, surely if he convinced his mind to shut down, it would. Even so, he was feeling wide awake, like nothing could possibly send him back to sleep. He was asleep, though, that was the problem.

The king sneered, or what Vegeta assumed was a sneer, and crossed his arms over his metal, breast plate. Oh, yes, he had decided to present himself in royal Saiyan battle armour that night. Such an honour.

"Why? Is this your _home_, now?"

"I don't have a home."

Vegeta turned his head towards the door way, which was shut, unfortunately. Not that he would have considered running away. Where would he go? It was his dream; there was no guessing what was on the other side of that door. He'd never thought to check. Was he afraid? It appeared that he was glued to his bed this time, not even able to force his father away, especially when his ki was non-existent. Somehow, he had to worm his way out once again. It never ended well.

It had become second nature, though, digging himself out of situations.

The king stepped forward and rolled his eyes very nonchalantly. "Of course you don't. Although you do seem pretty settled." He smirked and looked at his son, sitting up-right with bed sheets sprawled across his lap.

How bizarre. It certainly wasn't like his father to act so, so casual around him. Telling himself over and over that it was a dream was becoming harder when everything looked so real, but his father was acting too strange to comprehend. And what was that business about him seeming settled? Was he insane? Did he look settled to him? Anyone could tell that Vegeta was not settled in the slightest. Such a poor accusation from a man who claimed to be of his own blood. And what was with that flick of the wrist?

"Don't be absurd. I choose to stay here and wait 'til the boy is ready to be trained," Vegeta said, defensively crossing his arms and scowling at his father.

"Hm, so you say," the king said speculatively.

That was it. Vegeta had passed his boiling point with that idiot. Who the hell did he think he was, constantly harassing him, and doing it in his own quarters? No one was allowed to stroll into his bed room. No-one. Throwing the sheets off himself, Vegeta tried to get out of bed, but couldn't. He was well and truly stuck. Defenceless. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought I ordered you to leave," he said, trying to act calm and breathing laboured breaths.

That only exacerbated the situation. It was like a switch had flicked in the king's head, and he just exploded with rage, clenching his fists and towering over, like Vegeta was a small child again. "Do you take me for a fool, Vegeta?"

Aghast, Vegeta was rendered speechless. It had gone beyond ridiculous. What was the man talking about? He had no idea. But he must have. He had to think … And he couldn't show any fear.

"Do you think I sit here dormant, while your thoughts circulate? I know everything, boy. The things you'll never admit to, not even to yourself. But there is another reason why you keep crawling back to this dump, and you know it greater than I, don't you?" The king stood straight again, as if all the anger had been vented and aimed at Vegeta, and now he was stress free.

The room grew disturbingly cold while Vegeta stared at his father, unsure of whether to answer that question. There wasn't an answer, surely? He had no other reason to be at Capsule Corp. No reason, at all. His brow furrowed as the thoughts grew stronger and more intense in his brain; one in particular, which involved Bulma, a long time ago, now. A moment of pure passion and desire, which he truly regretted, even though, his son wouldn't exist if it had never happened. If he and Bulma had never gotten together, and did what they did …

The king snickered, and it sounded cruelly similar to someone, who, again, Vegeta couldn't place. "At least we're on the same level now."

Helpless, Vegeta gripped onto his bed sheets. "I told you to leave … Now get _out_."

"Don't talk down to me, boy! Do you not know with who you're dealing with? I'm the king of all Saiyans!"

Vegeta laughed. "Don't throw that bullshit at me. You're king of nothing. Your planet was destroyed years ago," he said, feeling a heavy weight lifting off of his shoulders.

"I still rule over your people," the king said, spittle flying from his mouth and landing in front of Vegeta.

"My people? Don't make me laugh, fool."

The king composed himself, patting the saliva dry on his arms and lowering his head. "You should know damn well about the continuation of our peoples' pride."

"Not anymore, I don't."

"That's a _shame_, really," the kind said, cocking his head to the side and smirking sinisterly.

"What?" That was all Vegeta could muster, because he really hadn't the slightest clue of what was going on. The man had clearly lost his mind. People talking shit to him had been a regular occurrence and usually he'd shake it off, yet this man's persistence was similar to his own, and when he wanted to get a point across, he made damn sure it was drilled into the other person's mind. Setting it in stone. Forever.

"You were an excellent _warrior_. Now you're just _pitiful_. I'm ashamed to even call you my son."

"It's mutual," Vegeta sneered, looking away again. He had no problem expressing _that _emotion.

King Vegeta started pacing back and forth, anxiously calculating his next bout of harassment. Vegeta sat in his bed, watching closely; still hoping for the nightmare to end. How much torture could one endure? Was it possible to get a headache in a nightmare?

"What has happened to you?" the king started, "where is the power? The _rage?_"

"Why are you wasting your time?" Vegeta said, and then sighed heavily.

The king stopped pacing and grinned. "You know, you never asked me about your mother's death …"

The words felt like bullets, popping through Vegeta's tough skin. He had no choice but to retaliate. " … I didn't need to."

"Ah, that's right," the king said, overjoyed and clapping his hands, "You saw the entire thing, didn't you?"

What the … Vegeta felt his heart racing in his chest, and pounding at his rib cage, pushing him to leap off the bed and tear that man to pieces. But he couldn't, for the life of him, get off his bed. What sort of torture was this? How dare that man talk about his mother's death as if it was some sort of celebratory event. That was _not _his father. When his mother died, he could remember vividly that his father was speechless for weeks, months, even.

"It was my fault, really," he continued, picking at his nails. "I allowed Frieza to enter her room. Well, I didn't have a choice, but I didn't try to stop him. A good thing too … She was too soft. Such a burden. But such a shame to see her die."

"Who are you? Tell me at once!" Vegeta extended a clenched fist towards the king.

"Can't you see, Vegeta? Feelings only get in the way. Why did you think it was so easy for me to hand you over to Frieza?"

"What do you want from me?" Vegeta's eyes dropped to his lap as he felt defeat take a hold of him once again.

"To remember, monkey. Remember that you and I aren't so different." The king said, smugly dusting down his lap and flicking a bit of fluff from his leg.

Vegeta looked up, but now, instead of his father, Frieza was standing at the foot of his bed, blood crawling down his cheek, and fresh wounds across his face and body. It was just as he remembered, right before he died, when Frieza held him, dangling him by the throat, and watched as he choked on his own blood. " … Fri—Frieza."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Vegeta," he hissed and rolled his eyes.

"No … No!" Vegeta closed his eyes tight for a few seconds. If he couldn't see the monster, then it wasn't real. That's what his mother always used to tell him. Terrible advice, but hopefully it would work.

He opened his eyes again, and cautiously peeped out at each corner of his room.

The moonlight illuminated the different objects in his room, and everything was untouched. He dropped his shoulders and sighed deeply, but was then startled by a soft voice coming from beside him.

"Vegeta?"

It was Bulma, but what in the world was she doing there? He gasped. She was standing there, smiling as if it was the most natural thing to do in his presence. She looked so damn beautiful.

"What—What are you doing here?" he said, blinking away the confusion. He was completely warped. "Get out at once!"

Bulma merely smiled, pulled the ties loose on her red, dressing gown, and allowed it to drop to the floor in a heap, leaving herself bare-skinned before him. Vegeta felt his blood pressure rising, and all the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The room had gone from freezing cold to piping hot in a couple of seconds. He needed air immediately.

His eyes were fixed onto hers, not once lingering to the rest of her body. He couldn't look. It would go against his better instincts; erase everything he had worked towards; burn down every bridge he had built.

"Wait, what are you doing?" he said, trembling and moving over as she stepped into his bed. Why the hell did he allow her to do that?

Instantly, she took his face in her hands and kissed him like it was the last thing she would ever do. It was forceful, but he submitted, and deepened it, while enveloping her in his arms, because nothing else mattered. He wanted her. But why? What did he want her for?

That was it-the reason. She was the only person who understood him. He wanted her to comfort him. He wanted her to ask him if he was Ok, because no one else would otherwise.

He pulled back and stared into her stupidly large, blue eyes, to make sure it was a reality.

"Vegeta …" she whispered.

The words fluttered against his ear and he sighed in contentment. "Bulma."

"Vegeta, wake up," she said, a scowl now slapped onto her face, "Wake up, dammit!"

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, and he could see nothing but pitch darkness, and could feel someone trying to assault him. Quickly, without having a clear indication of what was happening, and out of pure instinct, he snatched at what was pressing against his shoulder and squeezed it tight. If Frieza wanted another fight, well, he could have it. All that training would have paid off if he could crush Frieza to the ground himself.

"Ahhh! Vegeta, let go, let go. It's me, Bulma. Let go-o …" Bulma was pulling away as hard as she could, digging her heels into the carpet. The burning sensation of her skin being twisted in multiple directions was unbearable.

The familiarity of the voice forced him to withdraw his attack, and instead, a furious blush appeared across his cheeks. He didn't look, but he hoped to God she had the decency to put some clothes on. Damn woman, flouncing around in his dreams and making him do inexplicable things. He was prepared for her now. If she even tried anything, he'd break her neck.

He propped himself onto his elbows, and ignored the feel of the drenched bed sheets sticking to his skin, and then he finally turned to look at her. Thank God. It was definitely not a dream anymore. The Bulma from his dream was a lot more … provoking. This Bulma was wearing a hideously large garment, with the Capsule Corp logo printed across it. In fact, it looked like one of the obese employees had given her his lab shirt … Vegeta frowned. How dare he!

Wait, what?

Tending to her sore wrist, Bulma pressed her lips tightly together and shot daggers at Vegeta, while he seemed to be away with the fairies again. Jeez, it was late. And, man, she was tired. Two in the morning, it said on her alarm clock when she was awoken by the screams again. Well, she was awoken by her mother, telling her to attend to Vegeta's needs, before she promptly smiled and scampered away. Why did _she_ have to do it?

Bulma scratched her head, yawned, and then shook her head at Vegeta. "I didn't want it to come to this, and I'm sorry for coming in here, but you've been shouting in your sleep for weeks now and it's waking everybody up." She folded her arms, and blinked several times, then opened her eyes as wide as she could to try and keep them from snapping shut again.

"Please leave. I'm not in the mood," he said, now staring at his lap.

"And you think I am? Vegeta, it's two in the morning. I'm missing out on vital beauty sleep, here. I found my first wrinkle yesterday … Not good!"

"What on earth …" Vegeta shook his head, perplexed by her babbling, once again.

Bulma tapped her foot. "Look, you're having nightmares, anyone can see that. But shouting my name from across the hall isn't the best way to get my attention … at _two in the morning._" A single butterfly fluttered in her stomach at the thought of him dreaming about her. She wondered what he was dreaming about. A guess popped into her head, but that was probably formed from one of her own dreams.

He blushed and fidgeted. "I was doing no such thing."

"OK. Whatever you say, tough guy, but it needs to stop."

A thought arose. If she wanted the screaming, or whatever she thought was going on, to stop, then he would simply leave. At that instant, he got out of bed and marched over to the closets, where he swung them open and started routing through them.

Garments of all different colours and varieties were being tossed to the back of the room. Bulma stood, confused, and watched the developing mountain of clothes. "Wait-Where are you going?"

"Anywhere," he replied from beyond the closet door.

"No, don't. You can't keep doing this." A tempting thought of walking towards him presented, but Bulma knew better than to act upon it. Instead, she held onto her arm and shifted her balance onto her left leg. There was a breeze blowing in from somewhere, she thought, as she checked over her shoulder and around the room to check for any open windows.

The clothes stopped flying and Bulma saw a hand hold onto the closet door, and then swing it back, revealing a very serious Vegeta. "I'll do whatever, and you'll not get in my way." How many times did he have to remind her of that?

"Oh, _please_. As if I'd even try," she said sarcastically. "Seriously, though, don't go."

He looked at her, her doe-like eyes. "I have to," he sighed.

"You have to? Why?"

"You couldn't begin to understand."

"Maybe so, but I can try."

"Trying isn't good enough."

He took off his shorts, and picked up a pair of jeans, holding them up and checking the quality. He'd never worn them before, you see. It was a pair the crazy, old woman had bought him a year ago.

All the while Bulma bit her lip and averted her eyes from the naked Saiyan. Was he so comfortable about himself, that he would just whip it out in front of anyone? Mind you, he had never walked around the house naked. Was she an exception? Or was it that he wasn't bothered about being around her, naked or not.

Vegeta grinned when he cast a glance over at her and saw her face turn crimson red. At least he still held a certain power over someone. But that power was useless, nonetheless.

"We can just talk about it, you know," Bulma said, watching him from her peripheral vision and tapping her fingers on her forearm. "This running away business is getting really boring, Vegeta."

"I'm not running away," he snapped like a cantankerous child, still grasping onto the jeans.

"Sure looks like it to me," she said, thinking that he would have put clothes on already, and being embarrassingly mistaken. "If it's about what happened at the Cell games; I know. I lost my best friend, and now Chichi is distressed with another baby on the way."

Vegeta hopped on one leg while trying to pull his jeans up. "She should have kept her damn legs closed, then," he quipped, smirking.

"Vegeta! This is serious … Anyway; please, talk to me. I've heard you every night. It's awful. And if you're gunna stay here, then we need to sort this out, no?"

He buttoned up his jeans. "Right."

Bulma's eyes brightened with hope, and she dropped her arms to her sides. "Yeah?"

"No, now go away."

"No. I'm not moving, Vegeta," she retaliated, clenching her fists and standing tall.

"Then I'll have to make you move. No trouble at all." He advanced towards her, and she backed away.

"Touch me … and you will die." She took up a boxing stance, but it didn't deter him at all.

"Ha."

Without thinking of the consequences, Vegeta paced over to the nimble woman, and wrapped his arms around her, lifted her feet off the ground, and headed towards the door. He held his breath while doing so, otherwise her scent would flood his senses, and he'd probably heave. That or pin her to the ground, rip her clothes off and-Blast! Damn those thoughts!

Bulma kicked her legs and swung her arms, before she was left with no other option but to dig her teeth into his Saiyan forearm as hard as she could. The results were fantastic, as he immediately let go of her and hissed in pain. Bulma licked her teeth just to check she hadn't drawn any blood. Nope!

She stumbled into the wall, and thankfully didn't topple over completely. That would have been humiliating.

"Argh. You stupid bitch," Vegeta spat, squinting at the tiny bite mark and saliva left on his arm.

Bitch? Who the hell did he think he was, calling her a bitch? She was many things; beautiful, Goddess, amazing, genius, but _bitch_. Oh, no. "You had it coming, asshole," she said, straightening her oversized t-shirt. She was happy for round two. There was something strangely exciting about what had just happened.

"Why can't you leave me in peace?" Vegeta said, crossing his arms, and shooting her the most deadly scowl. To anyone else it would have been deadly, anyway.

She sighed in exasperation. "Because you're not in peace, clearly."

There it was again—the thought of killing her. It was amusing how much that thought cropped up in his head, and yet, he never acted upon it. All he had to do was wrap his hands around her neck, apply the smallest amount of pressure for a few seconds, and she'd be dead. Out of his life forever. Such a blissful thought ...

But he couldn't.

"Why do you care?"

Quite solemn now, Bulma stepped closer to him, "Because … I don't know," but then looked away and took a step back again.

He checked the bite mark once more, and didn't look up when he spoke. "Then you know what to do. And close the door on your way out."

Keeping his eyes on the floor, he was lost for any reaction when he heard her footsteps padding away, and then heard the door shut.

She'd gone? Just like that? It was that easy, was it?

Leaving didn't seem as appealing to him, and without the threat of her invading his space again, he removed the unusually tight jeans, and slugged back into his bed. The sheets were damp, and smelt of sweat, but he had slept in far worse conditions before. This was heavenly compared to anything he had endured.

It was tiresome living with the Briefs family. Very tiresome, indeed. Sometimes he did consider—if he could—going back onto Frieza's ship and continuing the life of a ruthless killer. Being under those orders weren't so troubling when it was the only think he knew how to do well. Living with Bulma and his son, in an environment filled with peace and happiness, was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. It wasn't natural. Their behaviour was odd. He'd only had time to consider this, because originally he had only planned to stay for a short time-it was a stop gap. Then he would destroy the planet himself and conquer the universe. But, no. That plan was fucked from the word go, really. Ever since he had begun fighting those damn androids, he knew in the back of his mind that it wasn't going to end well. Now where was he? He was living on earth, playing father to a child he didn't (primarily) want, and having to endure nightmares every single night. It was punishment, alright. He was paying the price for his incompetence.

Sleep was taking a hold of him again. That was until he heard his door creaking open. That woman didn't know when to give up. He could smell her scent instantly. So, he sat up once more, and glared at her, seeing that she was struggling to shift her way through the gap in the door because she had a tray in her hands, which had a large plate of sandwiches and a couple of bottles on it. "Woman …"

Bulma shuffled through, arse first, and then closed the door with her foot and switched the light switch by pressing her forehead into it, before she sauntered over to Vegeta's bed side and placed the tray down gently. "Now, we're going to talk like regular human beings … Well, you know what I mean."

He huffed. "Not a chance. Don't you learn from your mistakes?"

"Clearly not." She smiled and sat down on his bed, forcing him to edge away.

It was like his dream all over again. This time there was food as well? How much more seduction could he handle? "I do not need your company, nor do I want it … But you can leave the food here."

Bulma pouted, picked up and sandwich and examined which paste she had put on it. "It comes as a package, I'm afraid, dear prince. You can't have one or the other."

Vegeta grunted. He was pretty hungry, and even though the sandwiches didn't look very promising, it was food and it would do for him. Without further-a-do, he snatched a couple of sandwiches and began eating them.

Bulma smiled, feeling she'd accomplished a massive feat. "Good. I'm glad we've come to some sort of agreement—"

"Whatever, woman. Hand me my beverage."

Bulma flinched when she saw bits of chewed up bread fly out of Vegeta's mouth. "P-please," she said, grimacing.

"Now."

"Fine. Jeez." She passed over the bottle of soda water and watched as he gulped it down.

They sat in silence for a bit, eating. When Bulma decided to salvage their conversation by talking about the thing she had meant to talk about when she first entered his room … An _hour_ ago. That's right, it was _Three _in the morning now, and she was still awake. Somehow, she felt too old to be having 'all-nighters', even if it was with an incredibly sexy man. That was a different kind of all-nighter all together.

"So … These _nightmares_. Do you remember any of them?"

Vegeta coughed, and then hit his chest with his fist. Did she know something he didn't want her to know? "You're not a fucking psychiatrist. Stop trying—"

"I need to find out somehow, don't I? Urgh!" She bit into a sandwich with a bit more force than necessary.

"Have you ever thought that it was none of your business?"

She swallowed. "Have _you_ ever thought that waking people up at all hours isn't very _considerate_, at all?"

Why did he put up with this woman?

"Your shrieking could wake up the demons of hell," he spat.

"What does my shrieking have to do with … Stop trying to change the subject! Shut up and eat your sandwich." The plate was pushed over towards Vegeta, who seemingly accepted it gladly.

"Don't speak to me like that," he said, glancing down at the small pile of food.

"Well, you're gunna eat it anyway."

"Of course I am, idiot woman."

"Good."

"Hn." And he began to feast upon what was left, while Bulma crossed her arms and looks the other way.

Again, they sat in silence, Vegeta chewing his food, and Bulma watching in disgust. Sure, she'd seen him eat plenty of times, but she had a sneaky feeling that he was displaying his worst case of animalism as a way of trying to get rid of her. As if that would work! Goku was her best friend, remember? If anything, it only made her feel more comfortable. But she was a woman, and a lack of manners was just rude. It had to be.

Pushing the empty tray towards Bulma, Vegeta announced, "Right, you can go now."

"No, I haven't finished my drink yet," she said, taking a sly sip.

"Take it to your own room."

"I'm comfortable right here, thanks."

"You ignorant wench."

"Jerk."

The tension was too thick. Vegeta wouldn't stop staring at her, and it made her feel tense. She quickly gulped down the rest of her soda, and placed the empty bottle on the tray, which evidently toppled over and rolled off the tray and onto the floor. She'd get that later. There were more pressing matters to attend. Like, Vegeta. Who was still … staring at her. God, it was creepy!

"I want you to know, and I know I've said this before, but, I'm here when you're ready to talk." She gazed at him, noting how he didn't flinch, grimace, or scowl at her words for once, rather, he just sat still and _stared. _

Bulma shuddered.

"What makes you assume I'd want to talk to you?"

Bulma thought about the time when he actually did confide in her. When he spoke about his mother's death and how horrible it was. The pain she felt from those words was dreadful. Only a fraction of what she felt could be compared to the reality of Vegeta's pain. Yet, she sat, and she listened, and she respected him greatly after that. Regardless of handing him a bottle of whiskey and provoking him to talk in the first place. That didn't matter! What mattered was she had discovered a new side to Vegeta just by getting him to talk. She knew he could do it. He was just so darn stubborn about everything. He had obviously forgotten about who he was speaking to.

She exhaled. "'Cause you know I'll listen … I care about you, Vegeta. And for the sake of our son, I want you to be healthy … sane." She whispered the latter.

He studied her expression for a moment, trying to dig up any underlying emotions, like hate or deceit. No, she was being serious. How was he supposed to react to that? Keeping quiet was his best bet.

The longer he remained silent, the more his mind wondered and his eyes travelled. Particularly, they roamed over her. The Bulma in his dreams may have been extremely enticing in a sexual sense, but this Bulma was enticing in so many other ways. Yes, she was attractive. That was patently obvious. Every being in the galaxy would be pining over her if they got the chance. And there she was, sitting in front of him, wanting his company, his attention. His affection? She _did_ say she cared about him.

Vegeta pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I'll try my best to help you, I promise. Nothing less," she said, smiling softly.

"I don't understand you," Vegeta said, letting go of his brow and looking over at her.

Her eyes widened questioningly. "What do you mean?"

"Why do you feel the need to help me, when—when I don't need it?" He wanted to say much more.

"Maybe you think you don't, but there's no harm in letting me try," she shrugged, and fiddled with the loose bottle cap. "It's not like you're training anymore, and don't have the time—"

"You can't help me."

She put the bottle cap down. "Why not?"

"No one can. I don't deserve it, anyway."

They locked eyes, Vegeta's sorrowful expression almost bringing Bulma to tears. She was so tired.

"I don't care. I want to."

Bulma stretched her arm over the tray and placed her hand on Vegeta's. The whole time she kept her eyes on his to watch any flicker of emotion or negative reaction. There was none.

The warmth of his hand felt nice. She wished she could hug him and reassure him, but he just wasn't that sort of man. She also wished that he would wrap his arms around her and keep her warm, because she could swear there was a draft coming from somewhere …

She started to rub her thumb soothingly across his knuckles, which he allowed her to do so, as he kept his eyes trained on the wall opposite him. Soon enough, he closed his eyes and sighed. Whether it was a contented sigh, or one of inner pain wasn't for certain, but either way, Bulma was making some form of contact with him. A contact she had longed for some time, now. And it felt right.

He wanted to pull away, but like his dream, he couldn't. Well, he knew he could have if he really, _really _wanted to. Her hand was too soft, and her gentleness was overwhelming. His mind was left vacant for the moment. When he opened his eyes to look at her, for some reason, she refrained from touching him, and pulled her hand away and let it rest on her lap, shyly, like she had done something wrong.

Vegeta was a little dazed and exhausted. One thing he knew for sure was that she had manipulated him into a state of tranquillity, and he wasn't angry about it. Actually, he was … What was the word … Happy? No, that was too bold of a statement. He was OK about it. Yes, that fitted well.

His lips felt full of blood, and he chewed the top, squishing the flesh between his teeth, and enjoying the full feeling. The relaxed feeling. "Why did you—"

"Why did I what?" Bulma said, watching with pure adoration. Damn, he was attractive when he didn't have that scowl on his face.

Vegeta blinked as a light switched on in his head, and he looked into the huge, blue eyes that seemed to have him rooted to the spot. " … Nothing."

The moment was too good, Bulma thought to herself, while chewing on her bottom lip. The moment was too darn good to mess up now. But she knew that by tomorrow, Vegeta would act as if nothing happened between them, and they would be back to their non-existent relationship again. On the other hand, if she didn't leave now, he might become irritated and tell her to leave anyway. It looked like it was coming to that anyway. Slowly chip away, that's what she had to do. There was plenty of time to work on this. As long as he got some rest, and stopped his screaming, then she would feel like she had achieved something tonight. She would have done what she set out to do. He was staying for Trunks, that was true. Would he also stay for her?

Confusion swept across her features for a second or two, before she nodded briefly, collected up the tray with all the rubbish on it, and got up from the bed. She didn't want to look back at him, but as she opened the door and left her finger to linger on the light switch, she just had to. And he was just sitting there, watching her, emotionless and wide eyed. Like nothing she'd ever seen before. Something about it was a little bit overwhelming. "Try and get some rest … And if you _do _ever want to talk; you know where to find me." Then she smiled and sauntered out, closing the door behind her.

Disoriented, Vegeta rubbed his eyes for a few seconds, until he began to see purple dots in his vision from rubbing too hard. As he rubbed and rubbed, a certain smell wafted its way around his face, and he winced, like he was in serious pain. The damn woman had left her scent all over his skin. He stayed still with his hand pressed against his nose, and he inhaled deeply. It smelt like some sort of soap—like lavender. Stupid woman! She was doing it again to him. That's what his father had meant. It was her!

He would clean his hands at once.

But was there really any harm?

What? Of course there was!

Vegeta dropped his hands into his lap and looked up towards the heavens. Did he really deserve this?

Then another thought flashed through his mind.

Didn't lavender help you sleep?

He _was_extremely tired.

Maybe he could leave the scent there until the morning …

* * *

><p>AN - Too confusing? I hope so, he he. Too OOC? I hope not D: Lemme know so I can try and mend it.

Take this a little side chapter. Lots of love :)


	5. Comfort

Igniting the Fire

Chapter 5

* * *

><p>The new schedule was manageable. Bulma worked shorter days, took an extra half an hour for her lunch so she could see Trunks, and more conveniently, instead of working from the labs across town, she spent all her time in the labs on the compound. Everything was working out smoothly, and as it was summer, the days were longer, so by the time she finished work at three pm, she still had plenty of time to spend with Trunks.<p>

Currently, she was leaning across a work bench, hands pinned at the tops corners, weighing down a new set of notes, diagrams and blueprints. A droplet of sweat fell onto one of her diagrams, which absorbed the ink and created a tiny puddle on the page. Bulma pulled her lab coat tight at the sleeves and dabbed the wetness carefully, but the ink only smeared across the page, creating a mess. When she checked her watch, it was half two. Possibly time to finish early?

Half an hour wouldn't hurt anyone.

It was unusual for Bulma to be wanting an early finish, but she was truly stumped with her latest project. There were many other things she could get on with at work, and her dad had been muttering about the extremely high demands for the upcoming summer, lately. Yet, this particular project just seemed more significant to her. More meaningful. It was—in theory—a small device, similar to a set of headphones, which could manipulate a person's dream pattern. Not like the crazy inception stuff, no, it was a little less confusing than that, believe it or not. It came with two pressure pads that you wear on both your wrists and they kept track of your heart rate and then if something frightening, painful, or unpleasant occurs in the subconscious, the headphones would set to a certain frequency and penetrate the subconscious field. Thus projecting something, or creating something that would soothe the subject and hopefully, temporarily remove the trigger to their discomfort. The subject? Vegeta, of course.

Bulma just had to find a way to link to two components together, then everything would be up and running. She was going to override the idea, because after the night she had spoken to Vegeta, his 'condition' (so to speak) had improved and he wasn't exactly screaming out in his sleep any more. But the past couple of weeks proved otherwise. It was like the torment had gone into remission, only now it had returned twice as bad. It was chronically painful to hear. So it was split between creating sound proof walls and try to convince herself that he was fine, or there was what she was trying to do now. So far, though, it wasn't looking too positive. The task was too time-consuming and she needed at least another pair of hands.

Another drop of sweat fell from the tip of her nose. God, it was stuffy in the lab.

The decision had been made. She'd take the idea to her father and see what he could determine; whether it would even be worth attempting. And, if so, she was sure that he'd be willing to help her begin creating it.

Her hands scrambled across the desk as she tried to gather every last scrap of paper, and once done, she held them close to her chest and shuffled out the lab. It was funny. She had spent so much time trying to help Vegeta recently, but hadn't really thought about _him _at all. It was a bit strange not having him sitting in the corner of her mind. Well, he was there, alright, but just not explicitly. Actually, thinking about it, she hadn't seen him for a couple of days or so. Sometimes she'd see him wonder through the kitchen, but he wouldn't stop to chat. Not that he ever did, but … She shook her head … That would be the day!

The doors to her dad's private lab swept open automatically, making Bulma jump a little, even though she'd been in there many time before. She stepped in and saw her dad grafting away on, what looked to be, an android of his own. What was he doing that for? Bulma stopped for a moment and watched him work, not wanting to scare him half to death with her unannounced approach. His eyes were trained upon the waist of the android, tightening something in the abdominal area. As he did so, a broom snapped out of the metal casing and smacked him in the face.

_Ah,_ _a cleaning bot, _Bulma thought as she hid her laughter behind her papers.

Dr Briefs looked up, and when he saw his daughter, his cheeks imminently grew a dark shade of pink. Very self-consciously, he grabbed the broom and crammed it back into the abdomen compartment of the bot, straightening his arms out, before slamming the lid closed.

Bulma cleared her throat. "Um, dad, I have something I want you to take a look at … If you have time."

His moustache twitched, probably out of embarrassment, and he walked over towards her 'til he was at her side. He looked at the notes that Bulma had in her arms, and nodded towards his work bench. Bulma went to the bench and lay the papers down carefully, skimmed through them to find the most vital piece of information. The annotated diagram. She held it up to her father's face and he took it, gladly, into his own hands.

Bulma, still sweating profusely, waited, anticipating her father's reaction. Why didn't any of these labs have windows? It was so God damn hot in here. She pulled at her collar.

Dr Briefs looked up at her, gathering up the sight. His brows furrowed, and he dipped his head slightly, looking from over his lenses. "Leave them with me; I'll take a good look at them." And he rolled up the piece of paper and put it under his arm.

That was her father's way of saying: _I have more important things to be doing, right now. _She nodded gratefully. "You sure, dad?"

He nodded back. "Quite."

"Ok, then—"

The lab doors slid open again and Bunny came rushing in. "Bulma, dear," she sang. "Chichi has arrived."

Chichi? _Shit … _She'd completely forgotten making plans with Chichi. She was in no fit state to deal with Chichi right now.

Dr Briefs merely chuckled, shrugged apologetically, and returned to his work.

Bulma patted down her lab jacket pockets, trying to emphasise her disorganised state, and thankfully Bunny caught on and clasped her hands together.

"I'll go and get her something to eat. You take all the time you need to freshen up, sweetie." She vanished out the room at an alarming speed.

The raucous snarl of a power drill brought Bulma down to earth, and she pressed her forehead with the back of her hand, feeling how damp her skin was. Gosh, it was only June. If she couldn't handle a little bit of heat in June, God knew what she'd be like on vacation in July. She couldn't wait. The thought made her giddy, and with Chichi present, she'd finally be able to discuss the plans thoroughly.

Before Bulma left her father with his work, a thought occurred, a thought that rendered her skin prickled. If her mom had just come in without Trunks, then who was looking after him? Surely not …

"Dad, do you know who's watching Trunks?" she said, and then sucked in her bottom lip.

Dr Briefs put the power drill on the side, suprised that he actually heard her over the noise. "No, dear, but if your mother isn't watching him, someone else must be … Bulma, your mother can be careless sometimes but she wouldn't leave her grandson on his own."

She smiled warily. That wasn't what she was worried about. Could Vegeta be watching Trunks? He wasn't really … Well, he didn't really seem to be in the right mental state to be looking after anybody else other than himself. She had to trust him. If she could do that now, then maybe they could have some foundations to build upon. It was just … the brief moments when she saw him passing by, he looked awful. Terrible, in fact. It was his eyes. He clearly mustn't have been getting any sleep. Would it be safe to leave Trunks with him after knowing all this? Her mother must have known it as well. Who didn't?

His screams were too loud to ignore …

* * *

><p>"So … How're things now that—"<p>

"Now that the entire world knows?" Chichi said, clasping her mug of tea. "No, things are moving on."

Bulma hadn't meant to bring that subject up again. Chichi may have only been a month pregnant, but already her attitude had changed. She was solemn. Even more so than usual. All Bulma wanted her friend to know, was that she cared, and would always be her shoulder to cry on. Chichi could be one hell of a crier sometimes. "You know I'm here for you. I'll support you the entire way." She smiled, holding on to Trunks as he fidgeted on her lap.

After a shower and a change of clothes, Bulma felt great, calm, fresh. It was late afternoon and the high temperatures were decreasing ever so slowly, but slow enough for Bulma to appreciate. There was no longer a thin, film of sweat on her face, and she looked her usual self again.

At a loss of anything appropriate to say, Chichi took a slow and thoughtful sip of her tea. Then a few seconds later, she spilled. "I wasn't ready for this …"

"Chichi, having a child is a blessing," Bulma shot back, assuming that that was what she was talking about. "You and I know that. You're a great mom to Gohan and I just know you'll do the same, awesome job raising this child." She suggested to Chichi's stomach, and smiled knowingly.

"Of course I will, Bulma. I know how to be a mother," she said scornfully, as if Bulma didn't have the right to compare motherhood just yet. "Goku won't be there to see our child being born, and he won't get to hold it … And it's all because of that horrible monster."

Bulma looked at the floor. The mood had been killed. "I know. But what Goku did … He saved us all."

"That might be true, but I can guarantee that another awful creature will try their chances with this planet, whether my husband is alive or not."

Galvanised with defeat, Bulma took to sipping her own tea, avoiding eye contact with Chichi. Maybe Chichi was right. Maybe, even despite Goku's sacrifice, the planet was just one huge target across the universe. And it's only a matter of time before something greater, more terrifying came along. That would be cynical thinking, though.

She bent forward, squashing Trunks a little, and placed the empty mug on the coffee table. "We don't know what the future has to offer. You can't think like that."

"It's all that seems to happen on this planet." She looked around the room vacantly. "I love earth, it's my home, but sometimes I wish I could just get away. Far away."

Bulma bit her bottom lip. The words that seemed so hard to speak of, but played across her mind for years and years and, yet, Chichi just blew the lid so easily. That's normal, though: escapism. "Hey, I have plenty of ships you can use."

Chichi finally cracked a smile. "Don't tempt me."

"We've all felt like that sometimes. You just gotta keep your chin up and see the good in life."

Chichi patted her belly and smiled softly. "Yeah."

There had been many times when Bulma felt like giving up, particularly during her pregnancy. The feeling of being abandoned and alone, even with her family surrounding her and giving her all the help she needed. It was as if Vegeta and she had never created their child in the first place, like it was all pinned on her. Yeah, back then she could have easily taken off to somewhere far away from everyone, but she didn't. She stayed. At the time it was due to fear. She had grown up so much since then. She's a mother now. A great mother.

"Uh, speaking of escaping to relax … Yamcha is booking the vacation tomorrow. You in?" Bulma said, hopefully, eyeing Chichi who looked beyond perplexed at her suggestion.

"Hm?"

"Are you coming? On vacation?"

Chichi's eyebrow arched perfectly. "Vacation? Since when?"

Bulma was sick of the questions, but she couldn't understand why Chichi was acting dismissive. "You—you didn't know?"

Trunks started tugging on Bulma's damp hair, and sucking the remnants of water from it. She pulled her hair away from him while keeping her eyes trained on Chichi's vacant expression.

"Until now, no."

"So, Yamcha hasn't told you, right?" The pieces were beginning to fit together. Unfortunately.

That statement provoked a sinister grin from Chichi, and she rolled her eyes, patted her hands on her lap. "Well, that doesn't surprise me."

So, Yamcha hadn't told Chichi. Did that mean he hadn't told anyone else? Was it just a little game he was playing, or was it something much worse. Something that she thought had been pushed into the past, and locked away forever.

Trying to create a distraction, Bulma took a pacifier out of her pocket and handed it over to Trunks. He knew what it was so he grabbed it instantly and began examining it. Her full attention was on Trunks at that point, not allowing herself to see the scrutiny from Chichi. Trunks studied the dark, blue pacifier intently, before frowning and chucking it across the room, where it hit the wall and left a little chip in plaster.

"Trunks!" Bulma said, and then plopped him over by Chichi while she went to retrieve the, now broken, pacifier.

Still crouched on the floor, pacifier in hand, Bulma looked at the opposite wall, deep in thought and on the brink of making a point. Then she looked at Chichi, knowing too well what was going to be said, but the best bet was to act naïve in all of it. But, too be fair, she really thought all of that was behind her/ them. "You don't think …"

Again, Chichi rolled her eyes, while stroking Trunks' hair. "Bulma, I _know_."

Bulma flumped to the floor. Every time she thought she had made progress, it would slap her in the face. Did Yamcha seriously think he could prolong that sort of secret? What would she have done if she arrived at the place and there was only Yamcha there? What would he have expected her to do?

Chichi laughed, and her eyes widened in disbelief. "What? I thought you were used to that man pining over you."

"No, no. I thought we'd passed that … I thought we'd passed it." Bulma felt a pang of guilt shoot through her entire body. What had she been doing? Maybe she had been leading him on without realising it. Maybe she's overreacting. But the look on Chichi's face told her that it had been obvious for a while.

"What happened to taking it on the chin?" Chichi said, grinning.

"Ch. I think there's a line that shouldn't be crossed, don't you think?"

"It's only Yamcha. You know how to deal with him."

Bulma sighed. "I'm tired of it, though." She was. She was tired of everything.

Chichi looked away, quite stumped herself. She could see where Bulma was coming from, in a way. It had been a long time since she had had someone chasing after her. There _was_ Goku, but she practically had to force him to show her a little attention. To have it placed into your lap like Bulma, especially after so many years, must have been somewhat tiresome. She continued to stroke Trunks' hair, watching as he tried valiantly to keep his eyes open, and she mulled over Bulma's situation.

"We should make this holiday special, then." Chichi smiled softly and felt pleased when she saw Bulma's face brighten.

"What, so, you'll come?" She stood up and made her way back to the sofa.

"Maybe," she said, putting a defensive palm up. "On one condition."

Bulma stared, her eyes wide with inquisition. "And what's that, then?"

"I'm not having Vegeta there," she said with a stern look on her face.

Bulma chuckled. "Oh, that won't be a problem." The thought of Vegeta going on holiday with them made her want to cry with laughter. It hadn't even crossed her mind to invite him. She knew he wouldn't go, but would it be too rude not bothering to offer him an invite?

* * *

><p>Trunks had been in bed since eight. It had been an hour. Bulma was insanely bored already. Gone were the days when she could work late hours, go and see bad movies with Yamcha, and stay out in town until the early hours of the morning. Nowadays she'd sit in her room and try to get lost in a good book. Unfortunately, the books she attempted to read were sickly-sweet romances, and totally unrealistic. As if a guy would ever tend to his girlfriend when she was sick, and give her all the chocolate ice cream she wanted. Just so … Bulma snapped the book shut and dumped it on her bed, before getting up and walking out onto the balcony, which overlooked the vast grounds of Capsule Corp.<p>

She rested upon the railings and watched the sky, thinking. The more deeply she thought about the men in the novels, the more she was comparing them to the men in her life. Men indeed. Pressing her palm into her cheek, she stood realising that if anyone would have tended to her needs when she was sick, it would have been Yamcha.

Things weren't _too_bad with Yamcha, she supposed. They had their ups and downs like every other couple, except she was almost positive they weren't meant to be. It was a hunch. Maybe the hunch was wrong. The fact that she was thinking about it a lot more must have meant something?

Oh, what she would give to escape to that mystery planet! What was she thinking? That was an awful thing to think when she had so much responsibility at home. No, that's what she would do; take Trunks with her, then that way she wouldn't have anything to worry about. She could do that, yeah.

The sky was so clear that Bulma could already see a small cluster of stars. She wondered which one of those stars would be a habitable place for a mother and child.

Probably none of them, because they're all dead.

Inwardly, she rolled her eyes and berated herself. What happened to the bubbly, adventurous girl? That girl had somehow stuck to the past. Where she belonged. People change all the time, they change their hair colour, their dress sense, their sense of humour. So what if she'd changed?

Bulma's gaze dropped from the sky and onto the lawn. There was no point in daydreaming any more. Everything she seemed to want in life swung around and hit her in the arse. As her eyes travelled, she stopped short of breath when she saw Vegeta lying on the grass, sleeping? He looked like he was sleeping, anyway. If not, then he knew she was there.

Her skin tingled at the sight of him, lying there in nothing but a flimsy pair of boxer shorts, his skin taught and his muscles well defined. Quickly, Bulma diverted her gaze back to the darkening sky. Just the mere sight of Vegeta and she was at a loss for words. The thought that she was considering Yamcha again was banished when she saw Vegeta. He just couldn't compare. Yamcha had all the qualities she wished Vegeta would have, but he just wasn't him, and that wouldn't do.

Now all she had to think about was how to deal with Yamcha … But how can one man be so perfect … She shook her head and realised she was staring at Vegeta again. She had to control herself! But it _had _been a while since she'd had sex, meaning it was perfectly acceptable for her mind to force these thoughts upon her. Possibly not. She was just horny. And so suddenly!

Bulma licked her lips, feeling the dryness of both her tongue and mouth. Thinking about sex made her so thirsty, plus, she hadn't had a drink since Chichi left.

When she entered the kitchen, a feigned smile beaming across her face, she realised no one else was in there, so she dropped her shoulders in relief and trudged over to the fridge. Her mood had plummeted that afternoon. If Chichi just wouldn't have told her about stupid Yamcha and his stupid feelings then she wouldn't have been feeling so shitty.

Flinging the fridge door open, she scanned the contents in the hopes to find a very strong, alcoholic drink. Something with at least a forty percentage volume. With that down her neck she could easily drift into a dreamless sleep, wake up the next morning and have forgotten everything. Either that or wake up with a dangerously strong hangover, and then each shred of memory would slowly weave its way back into her mind throughout the day.

She shrugged. Oh, what the heck!

Ah! Her face momentarily lit up when she spotted the glistening bottle of apple vodka, just sitting in the fridge, awaiting her arrival. She held the neck of the bottle, but stopped. Shit … That was right. She wasn't supposed to drink whilst she was taking her medication. For _three _months! What sort of torture was that? Bulma let out a silent scream, shaking her fist in the air. The day was only getting worse. It was a good thing, though. Imagine if she did drink all that vodka. What sort of mother would she have been, then?

The next best option was a humungous carton of fresh orange juice, conveniently sitting beside the vodka. The sweet, _sweet_ vodka … She snatched the carton, quite unsure of her own sanity, and spun around, only to drop it due to being paralysed with shock. "Oh jeez, Vegeta. You _scared_ me!" Vegeta was standing in front of her, staring like a soulless creature.

Somehow, the carton she was once holding had yet to hit the ground and splash all over her like she had assumed it would. She looked at the floor. Where the hell did it go? Then she looked back up to Vegeta, who thrust the carton into her chest.

"Good," he muttered, still watching her.

It looked as if he hadn't slept in weeks. Well. He hadn't slept in weeks, that was right. He actually looked weird, not himself. For one, she noticed, his hair was kind of drooping at the top, like a wilted plant, and his eyes, they weren't so, so … soul penetrating.

Awkwardly, she shuffled around him, because frankly, he was scaring her a little bit, and she stood on the opposite side of the kitchen counter. "You want some?", she suggested politely, gesturing to the carton.

Vegeta looked for a brief moment at what she was suggesting, but instead his eyes landed upon her cleavage. It was particularly inviting looking today. He decided that he definitely did want some, if she was offering.

"Hey, you there?" she cut in, snapping her fingers in the way of his view. Was he looking at her chest? He was clearly so tired that he didn't know how obvious he was acting; so unlike him to blatantly stare at her like that. She felt a pang of concern.

"Sure," he said, blinking and looking away.

The faster she got the new device going, the faster she could help Vegeta get back to normal.

Grabbing two glasses and placing them on the counter, she poured them both a drink, and then pushed Vegeta's glass over to him while she took a long swig of hers.

He swept the glass up and drank, watching her as he did so. Considering she'd given birth to a Saiyan child, she wasn't in bad shape, he noticed. Her breasts were certainly fuller, which was pleasant, but her waist and other certain areas were in as good a shape as they were before Trunks was born. Why hadn't he noticed it before …

Bulma wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and placed the empty glass on the counter. Man, she needed that. "You have a nice nap out there?" Making friendly conversation was something she was good at, even with a man like Vegeta.

"I wasn't sleeping," he retorted, also plonking an empty glass down.

"Looked like it to me."

"Why were you watching me?"

She blushed, staring at the empty glass, able to see the distorted reflection of her night dress. "I wasn't, well, I saw you … I just happened to be looking across the lawn. I didn't expect to see you napping there." _Yeah, nice one, Bulma. _The stuttering was completely unnecessary. Again, she thought about Yamcha, and how easily she could lie, and work her magic around him. With Vegeta, she couldn't even tell the truth.

"I wasn't sleeping," he said again, frowning deeply.

"Oh." Bulma looked around the room, hoping for a quick exit, but then she was startled by a revelation.

"I was thinking," Vegeta said.

He was _thinking?_ Wait, had Vegeta just initiated a conversation with her. Should she ask him what he was thinking about or was that pushing the boat out a bit too far? She didn't know what to do, so she settled with a slight nod, approving his statement, and not questioning whatsoever. That would be dangerous.

She bit her lip. Fuck it, she had to say something. It was too good to pass up. He couldn't make a statement like that and then expect her to leave it hanging in the air. "I've been thinking too." _Great_, now she just sounded like an idiot. Of course she had been thinking! She was a genius!

As expected, Vegeta stared blankly at her.

"Thinking of something that'll help you," she finished. "It's a work-in-progress, and could take a while, but if it all goes according to plan I really think it'll help."

"Help me with what?"

She looked into his lifeless eyes, and felt an instant twinge of protection. She really, really wanted to help him. "With your nightmares."

"That's impossible," he remarked, but kept a close eye on her. He was still unaccustomed to people wanting to help him, especially people as kind-hearted as Bulma.

"Hey, becoming a super Saiyan seemed impossible, but you did _that_," she clipped. "Nothing is impossible."

The warmth oozed from her words and touched him in a strange way. He didn't really know how to react. "Haven't you got more important things to be wasting your time on?"

"This _is _important … to me." Reading into his body language, she discovered that he didn't seem as opposed to the idea as he usually would have been. Perhaps he'd past the point of caring. Perhaps he was too tired and weak to object anymore. It was a good thing she was trying to do, if he could only see it that way. "So you're happy for me to try?"

The sound of a clock ticking reverberated through the kitchen, making Bulma flinch. Each tick sounded increasingly loud. Vegeta stood still, looking as if he was about to pass out, but he managed to stay on his feet. Maybe she should leave the subject for another day. Let him get some rest. "I'll let you think about it," she said softly, screwing the lid back on the carton.

"You're going to do it whether I agree to it or not," said Vegeta, eyeing her accusingly.

Again, she blushed. He knew her quite well, then.

Vegeta noticed everything about her at that moment. Her hair was tousled over one shoulder, her face was graced with a pinkish hue, and her eyes glistened with delight when talking about her work. The kindness radiated from her. She _wanted _to help him. He _needed _help. But he just couldn't understand why she'd want to help him. Should he allow it, though? Should he allow her to squirm her way back into his life, although, she wasn't squirming, was she? She was floating, gracefully …

Bulma went over to the fridge and put the practically empty carton back on the shelf … next to the Vodka. Backing away, she closed the fridge door, and sighed. No alcohol for Bulma tonight.

Warmth emanated from behind her, and wrapped itself around her waist. She jumped, gasped and turned around to find Vegeta right in her face, an unreadable look on his face. "Why do you-"

There wasn't time to think when she felt her back being pressed into the cold, fridge door. Her breathing suddenly became short and fast as she anticipated the unexpected. Oh, this was so _totally _unexpected. She swallowed, taken aback by his sudden interest in her.

Vegeta pressed his body against hers, their hip bones grazing irritably. He passed his hand through her hair and held the back of her head tentatively. "Bulma …" he said, a voice that sounded lost in the back of his throat.

The sound of desire clear in his voice, stirred something that had been lost within Bulma. How much she wanted to lose herself in his arms, forgetting everything apart from their union. But when she gazed up from under her lashes, she saw something unfamiliar in his eyes. It was helplessness. She could take what she wanted, have everything she had wished for, but it wouldn't feel right.

"Vegeta … please," she said hoarsely, delicately holding onto his arm.

His skin was so warm, she thought regrettably.

His face lowered to the crook of her neck, almost nuzzling her, like she longed for him to do. But for once, his behaviour, it scared her. It sent a cold cascade down her back. She knew how vulnerable he was feeling, and how defeated he had been since the Cell games. Him seeking comfort in her could only be a momentary thing, like it was before Trunks was born. She really didn't want to feel the sharp pain of rejection if he got back on his feet again, and forget that she was the cause for it. Help was what he needed, but not like this. While he's feeling like this, she needed to steer clear.

Vegeta inhaled the scent of her skin, the fresh fragrance of soap and shampoo. Everything about her seemed to draw him in, and yet, there he was, giving in to his desires again, thinking that it was mutual. He frowned, pulled away. He thought that that was what she wanted. He _thought_ the reason she had been pestering him was for _this_. And now she was rejecting him?

Bulma shrank as she watched the emotions flittering across his face. A stray section of his hair wilted over his eyes, and he quickly pushed it back with his palm, leaving it there for a few seconds.

Her face felt hot with blood. Decisions were floating around her skull. If she gave into Vegeta now, she would end up right back where she started with him, and she couldn't do that. Time had passed and she had grown up a lot since then. It had only been a few years, but she had matured. She was a mother, and had a strong head on her shoulders now. She knew when something wasn't right, and whatever was going on with Vegeta, needed to be sorted.

_Not_ like this.

A deep scowl formed on Vegeta's face, and with one rapid movement, he slammed his palms into the fridge behind her, causing it to crash into the wall with a brain-shattering smash.

Not allowing herself to see the destruction, Bulma's eyes glued themselves to Vegeta's, before he muttered something under his breath and stormed out of the kitchen.

Bereft by the sudden loss of body heat, Bulma wrapped her arms across her chest, and felt foolish when her eyes began to well up with hot tears. What the _hell_ had just happened?

The kitchen had never felt so cold.

Only a few seconds passed before Bulma's parents came running into the room, looking like meerkats on the lookout for danger.

Keeping her eyes trained on the wall in front of her, Bulma didn't flinch when her mother ran to her side and rubbed her back gently.

Dr Briefs looked at the concaved wall and clucked his tongue. "Bulma, what _happened _here?" He felt cautious about approaching his daughter in her delicate state. He just hoped to God that Vegeta wasn't responsible for it. Who was he kidding …

"Nothing, nothing, I'm fine," she insisted, shrugging her mother's hand off her back.

"_Nothing?_" Dr Briefs said, raising an eyebrow and gesturing at the destroyed fridge.

"Don't worry about it. I'll get it sorted-"

"Has he _hurt_ you?" Dr Briefs said in an unfamiliar tone.

Bulma's eyes widened. "What? No, no. _No. _Of course not." Despite her protests, she felt frightened.

Unconvinced, Dr Briefs scanned the room and sighed heavily. Never had he seen his daughter that upset before. "Let's get this cleaned up, shall we?" he said, his voice dripping with angst.

"No, don't. I'll get a bot to clean it or something. Leave it, dad," she said irritably, waving her father away.

"Well, _I'll_ get the bot. It could do with a good test drive ... You go and relax, Bulma." And he took her hand and led her towards the sitting room.

Throwing herself onto the couch, Bulma couldn't even be bothered thinking about the events which had taken place a mere couple of minutes ago. Instead, she thought about sand in-between her toes when she stepped onto an empty beach, with the sun glaring into her eyes. She felt the waves whipping gently at her bare feet, repeatedly. She closed her eyes and pictured that beach for a good half an hour, before she gave in and fell asleep.


	6. I do and I don't

**A/N - Why, hello there! It's been a while, yeah. Sorry for the wait ... Stupid Uni, with it's stupid exams and stupid coursework. It dictated MY LIFE. But now I'm free until September. MY GAWSH. Soooooo, thanks for waiting and being so patient. I really appreciate it. Sorry for the extra delay, as well. I've been bombarded with extra hours in work, and I bought minecraft the other day on xbox, and omgomg, I can't stop playing it ... Yeah, that's what my life has become. ANYWAY, aside the distractions, I've somehow managed to write this loooong chapter for y'all. Hope you enjoy it and wotnot. TALLY HO, CHAPS!**  
><strong><br>Igniting the Fire  
>Chapter Six<strong>

* * *

><p>The sun may have been beaming, bleaching everything in sight, but the wind had picked up in the last hour, making Bulma very aware of the short summer dress she had on. And when the frisbee Krillin threw took on a conscious mind of its own, and headed directly for Bulma's face, it only popped the cherry right on top of the cake. Thankfully, Bulma conjured up Saiyan-like agility and hit the floor, before the plastic of death could touch her newly curled hair.<p>

"What the hell, Krillin?" she shouted, grasping a fist full of sand, as it was the only choice of weapon available.

Krillin was a safe distance, so he merely chuckled, blushed and waved apologetically, shouting, "Sorry, Bulma. I guess my aim isn't as good as it used to be …"

"_Used _to be?" Bulma allowed the sand to drain through her fingers, and she sat back.

The group holiday was a mere week away, and Bulma had a long overdue invitation to Master Roshi's for a barbecue, with which she was forced by Bunny to attend, bribed by the opportunity to have some peace away from Trunks for a day. Apparently it was a good way to relax. Somehow, she could beg to differ.

Everyone was stuffed, including Eighteen. Something Bulma still couldn't quite understand, but she definitely saw that girl eating _real _food. She wondered if she emulated any other human bodily functions … Only half an hour after eating, Krillin insisted on a game of volley ball, but thanks to Roshi having a bout of consecutive nose bleeds every time one of the women jumped to hit the ball, Bulma felt forced to retire, and catch up on some rays. No way was she going on vacation looking like a bottle of milk. It was her natural complexion, something she was famous for, but she'd never taken it upon herself to get a tan. Usually she would burn. Maybe she was doing something wrong …

As she lay on the sand, Chichi by her side, she closed her eyes, allowing the sun to beat down on her eyelids, revealing the tiny threads of veins, glowing before her vision. She frowned, and fidgeted on her back. There was a reason why she'd never tried to get a tan. A few seconds passed before she felt a shadow loom over her, and she opened her eyes to a total eclipse. More like, Krillin's dome-like head.

A hand shield came in particularly useful, and a scowl.

"Why do we need to go on vacation? We could just hang out here. The weather is great." Krillin said, puffing up his chest and looking up at the cloudless sky.

"We're going somewhere different," Bulma said, looking up at Krillin … for a change. He was wearing Roshi's glasses again.

"Another planet?"

"I don't want to take Trunks that far, just yet. Besides, we've settled on Hawaii."

"Don't forget to bring your hula outfit, Bulma!" Roshi interrupted, shuffling through the sand, holding a tray of pink cocktails.

The thought of alcohol made Bulma feel a bit wary. She hadn't had a drink in a while, but, also, she had to fly her ship back to Capsule Corp in one piece, so whatever Roshi was planning was out of the question. She sat up, brushing any sand off her dress. "I have to fly back," she said, holding up a defensive palm in front of the cocktail being offered.

"One won't hurt," Roshi said, holding the drink and circling it in the air, as if it made the beverage just that little bit more enticing.

"No. Thanks, though-"

"I can fly you back," Yamcha said, approaching from the shore line, a Frisbee in his hand.

Right then, Bulma could feel Chichi watching her, and she took a sly glance at her friend, who was sitting up on her elbows, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head subtly.

"But then you can't drink anything," Bulma said to Yamcha, pushing the dancing cocktail out of her face, knocking Roshi back a few steps.

Yamcha made it to Krillin's side, and shrugged his shoulders. "I have a charity game tomorrow. I gotta be on top form."

"Stay, Bulma," Krillin said, took a drink from the tray, realised it was pink, blushed, and then put it back down. Eighteen smirked from beneath a palm tree.

One drink wouldn't be too bad. If she really wanted to relax, it was a great way to start. It could be seen as practice for her holiday, and she seldom got hangovers. There would be plenty of drinks on holiday. Bulma looked up at Yamcha. "Yamcha, are you sure?"

" … Of course he is," Chichi muttered, earning a quick elbow to the ribs from Bulma.

"Sure am," Yamcha said, smiling broadly.

The drink was swiped from Roshi's lecherous hands, and Bulma took a quick sip from the straw. "One couldn't hurt," she said, followed by a small cheer from Krillin, who was then thumped on the head by Yamcha.

"Ow, man … Why?" Krillin said, rubbing his sore, sun burnt head.

Several sweet cocktails later, Bulma and Chichi were expressing their emotions to one another. Bulma had had the full script about how Chichi was coping on her own, being pregnant, and looking after a son who was heading towards the terrible teens, while Bulma nodded encouragingly, lending her friend a shoulder to cry on … literally. You see, that's why Bulma didn't drink very often. It would always end up with someone crying.

They were both sitting outside, everyone else being inside, watching as the waves crept closer towards them. The sun was sinking, and so was Bulma's mood. But, then again, she hadn't really spoken to her friend for a while. Her life had been confined to Capsule Corp, Trunks, and, unfortunately, Vegeta. Someone she hadn't wanted to speak about at all, ever. So when Chichi brought the subject of the grumpy Saiyan up, Bulma felt her mood sink even lower into the ground. The last time she spoke to Vegeta was, well … It didn't go too well. Things had only gotten worse.

"So where is he?" Chichi said abruptly.

"I don't know," Bulma said, gazing out at the purple horizon.

"He's not at Capsule Corp?"

"I don't know, Chi … What's with the questions?"

Chichi shuffled on her bum. "I thought you always knew where he was."

Bulma's eyes widened, and she said, "I don't _stalk _him."

"That's not what I said-"

"No, no. I know what you're _trying _to say … You think I've got some weird obsession with him, and think about him … all the time." Bulma bit her bottom lip and watched Chichi from the corner of her eye. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

That was right: Bulma hadn't told Chichi about what had happen, so it was only natural for her to judge so quickly. Also, it was Chichi. Frankly, the subject annoyed Bulma. No way did she want her life to revolve around a man. That just wasn't her. Vegeta had been messing with her head for too long; it was enough.

"I don't know where he is … We had this fight and it got a little weird," she said sheepishly, rubbing her bare arms.

"You and Vegeta had a _fight_?" Chichi gasped dramatically, covering her mouth with both hands.

"Shut up … I didn't expect it, that's all." Bulma grasped fist-full of sand.

"Didn't expect what?" Chichi yawned.

Now or never. Bulma hadn't spoken to anyone about what had happened between her and Vegeta a couple weeks ago. Would telling Chichi make her feel better about it? It's not that she felt bad about it anyway. She hadn't done anything wrong. It was just like she was stuck in limbo. No one to talk to, no one to confide in, and no one to understand her. The situation between her and Vegeta clearly wasn't working, and there was no point in pushing him to behave so strangely, like he did that night. It wasn't right, and wasn't what she wanted. She wanted someone to want to be with her.

"He kinda came on to me …"

This time Chichi gasped for real.

"Yeah," Bulma continued. "It didn't feel right, so I told him to stop."

"He did stop, didn't he?" Chichi rubbed Bulma's arm.

"Of course. It wasn't like that, but … I dunno. I didn't want him to want me like that. See what I mean?"

Chichi crossed her arms and looked up at the dark sky. It was hard to grasp what Bulma meant, because, as far as she knew, Vegeta didn't want that from Bulma anymore. Even she knew that the battle with Cell had taken its toll on Vegeta. She truly doubted that he would search for that because of lust. The man was looking for comfort. Strange as he was, and as much as she hated him, she could understand his actions. " … Yeah."

Bulma brought her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "Trunks is my world now. I really wanted to be a family, but it's just not realistic … It won't happen. I need to move on from Vegeta … Too much baggage!" she laughed, and then sighed deeply.

"Bulma, as long as you're happy." Chichi smiled.

"I think I am," she said, finishing off the last of her drink.

The sun sank lower and lower, both Chichi and Bulma watching it. A visible shudder from Chichi, and she stood up, patted her shorts down, and announced, "I'm going back inside. It's getting too cold. Are you staying out here?"

Bulma nodded. The cold wasn't bothering her. It was quite refreshing. She wanted to see the sun set.

It only took five minutes before her tranquillity was destroyed. She nearly had a panic attack when something was thrown over her head, leaving her in complete darkness. A laugh sounded from behind her, and for a split second, she thought it was the end. Foolish she was …

"B, it's freezing out here," Yamcha said, pulling the jacket off her head and draping it over her shoulders.

"Thanks," she said, pulling the coat over her shoulders securely.

He sat beside her and watched as she looked at the sun disappearing.

"What are you thinking about, B?"

The atmosphere grew silent, while Bulma thought of a reasonable answer. "Just everything that's happened." She turned towards him. "I've never really had the chance to think about it."

He shuffled closer to her. "What? You mean the Cell games?"

"Yeah. How lucky are we to live on a planet as gorgeous as this? After nearly losing everything, you can't help but appreciate the simple things." She looked back at the horizon, and smiled.

"Tell me about it," Yamcha said, eyes glued to Bulma.

An empty, plastic cup rolled past. Both Bulma and Yamcha watched it, until it bumped into a palm tree and spun to a stop. She stared at it, absentmindedly digging her bare feet beneath the cold sand. It was comfortable—being with Yamcha. There were plenty of reasons why she shouldn't hang around with him, but he was a friend, and no matter what other people—specifically Chichi—said, she liked spending time with him. There might have been some cryptic meaning behind it, like, he could possibly be here soul mate, and it was only a matter of time before she realised it. That wasn't bothering her, though. The peace she felt at that moment was hard to ignore. By peace, she meant Vegeta free.

"Come watch me play tomorrow," Yamcha said, rolling down his shirt sleeves.

Bulma turned towards him, arching an eyebrow at him. It had been a while since she'd watch him play, and it was a lot of fun.

"It'll be fun. You can bring Trunks. It'd be his first baseball game," he continued.

You see, that was one of the good reasons to be hanging out with Yamcha. The thought of Trunks going to his first baseball game made Bulma bubble with excitement. All other thoughts or doubts were out the window.

She smiled broadly. "That sounds great. We'll be there. Trunks will love it."

"Awesome."

Her smile waned when Yamcha looked at the floor. The joy on his face looked way too genuine—overly enthusiastic. All she had to do was play it right. Don't give him the wrong impression. He knew the score, and knew how much their friendship mattered to them. Plus, she wanted to prove Chichi wrong more than anything. That would be perfect.

The sun was far gone, and the wind was turning icy, so Bulma feigned a yawn, which inevitably turned into a real yawn, making her look like she was struggling to breathe. Yamcha wasn't looking, though, so it was fine. She made sure to make enough noise during the latter of the yawn for him to notice.

"What time is it?" she said, stretching her arms above her head, interlocking her fingers.

"Ten," he said, trying not to look at her chest.

"Only ten? I must be getting' old."

"You don't look it."

And that was it. The cue to leave. Before it got out of hand, or any signals were thrown about.

"I think I should get back and see Trunks. He won't remember who is mommy is," she said, laughing.

Yamcha shot up to his feet, and offered his hand, to which Bulma watched for a split second, before agreeing with herself that it was harmless, and then held on while he heaved her up to her feet.

* * *

><p>The hover craft pulled up outside Capsule Corp at 11:30. Bulma pressed her nose against the window, trying to get a look at Trunks' bedroom, to see if the light was still on. When the vehicle lowered to a stop, Bulma could see that not only was Trunks' bedroom light on, but all the lights in the building seemed to be blurring. Didn't her father know about saving energy <em>and <em>money? Yeah, she may have been filthy rich and ridiculously brainy, but any genius knew that electricity bills were a pain in the ass.

The engine steadied to a soft purr, and Yamcha lowered the radio volume. "You OK? Want me to walk you back to your door?"

Bulma took her face away from the window, leaving a fading mark of condensation, and turned to Yamcha, frowning. "Hey, I'm not that drunk, jerk."

He shrugged, and laughed it off.

The door cracked when Bulma kicked it open. She grabbed her bag from the back seat, and stuck it on her shoulder. "Thanks for the ride home. Goodnight, Yamcha," she said, turning towards him and flashing her best, sober smile.

"See ya, Bulma," he said, moving his arm across the seat to rub her shoulder.

Bulma jerked backwards, trying to evade the attempt of physical contact, but in the process, lost her balance and tumbled backwards out of the vehicle, landing on her ass.

Yamcha yelped and tried to grab her flailing arms, but it was useless. She was far too gone. He leaned across the passenger seat, straining to look down at the three foot drop Bulma had endured. Instead, he had to rely on his ears. "Bulma? You good?"

A string of incoherent babbling rose from the floor, making Yamcha wince. If she didn't want to wake Trunks up, well … that was pretty useless now.

"Yep, yeah, I'm good. Fine, just fine. _Goodnight _Yamcha," she said, ragging her bag back onto her shoulder and getting up of the floor.

He watched as she made her way to the front door, rubbing the bottom of her back, continuously cussing to herself.

He flicked a switch and a pair of wings opened out at the sides of the vehicle. It took five seconds for him to soar a quarter of a mile into the sky, and all he could think about was the opportunity he had missed.

Meanwhile, Bulma strode into the 'kitchen' to be welcomed by an actual pig sty. She whipped around, taking in the walls, plastered in different colours of paint, pastry and stains she didn't want to guess. As she completed a 360 degree turn, she saw her mother and father sitting at the table, really looking their age.

"Oh, Bulma!" Bunny said, getting up and running over. "Would you like some lemon tea?"

"Mom, what happened in here?" Bulma said, scrutinising the dirt marks on the floor.

Bunny wafted the air with a hand, meaning for Bulma to stop worrying. "I thought it would be a good idea to make cakes with little Trunks, and … well, he's picking up a very bad temper."

That still didn't justify the soil on the floor, but Bulma let that slide. "Is he OK? And are _you _OK?"

"Yes, he's tucked up in bed. Oh, and don't be worrying about us. We're fine—"

"I think it's that father of his," Dr Briefs interjected, slapping the newspaper on the table.

Bunny rolled her eyes at her husband and handed Bulma a hot cup of tea.

"My poor little guy …" Bulma said, blew lightly on her tea, and turned with the intention to go and kiss her son goodnight.

"I wouldn't go up there if I were you," Dr Briefs said, stopping her. "It took me and your mother a while to settle him down."

"I just wanna say goodnight."

"Finish your tea first, dear," Bunny said, sitting back down next to her husband.

Bulma nodded, took a sip. "So what else did you guys get up to?"

Dr Briefs picked up his paper again, and straightened it out. Obviously expecting the conversation to dwindle and dissipate. "Oh, you know, the usual." He licked his finger and flicked to the next page.

"Have you taken your medicine today?" Bunny said, taking her rollers out of her hair and setting them on the table.

"Yes, mom …"

"You know, dear, the less time you spend at home, the healthier you become."

Bulma rolled her eyes. "I know. That's why I'm going on vacation."

Her back was still sore, so she sat down at the breakfast bar, wincing as she lowered herself on the seat. She _was _getting old, indeed.

"Did you get my message?" Bunny said.

"Your message?"

"Oh." Bunny shook her head, letting her curls flow over her shoulders. The draft fluttered Dr Brief's paper, and he 'ahem-ed', frowning at his wife. She continued, "Vegeta was asking for you, so I told him where you were. He went to leave the house, so I told him to tell you that there was a huge sale on at La Senza, on underwear."

Bulma's eyes widened in horror. "La Senza? Seriously, mom? "

"They were adorable. Some had little kitten prints on them—"

"Wait. What did Vegeta want? Is he here now?"

"Not that we're aware of," Dr Briefs said, looking over his paper.

Bulma sighed, and took another sip of tea. So, Vegeta left to go and find her. He knew she was at Roshi's. Could it be that he had been there the entire time, watching her? No, that's not Vegeta, at all. Strangely, she decided she wouldn't mind if he had stalked her there. To progress to a Vegeta-free state of content, to simply drift back into his world, would be stupid. Stupid, Bulma. Oh, who was she kidding? Even when she'd convinced herself, she still doubted. It didn't make sense; she knew that. Nothing did anymore-

The front door slammed, and the Briefs family all chirped up when Vegeta trudged into the kitchen, his clothes torn, his skin smeared with dirt. Well, at least he blended in with the décor …

Taking in his scruffy appearance, Bulma felt overwhelmed with the need to ask why he was in such a state. But she forced herself to turn back round, and finish her tea, only to hear him grunt and carry on and up the stairs.

Well, that was her first and only glimpse of Vegeta for another week …

No, you're right, it wasn't. She gulped the last of her tea and hopped off the chair. "I better go and see what he wanted."

As Bulma jogged down the corridor, she saw Vegeta approaching his bedroom door, hobbling and holding his ribs.

"Vegeta, wait up," she said, mentally berating herself for looking so eager to see him. Seeing anyone hurt upset her.

He stopped immediately, and looked over his shoulder.

"My mom said you were looking for me," she said, stopping a couple steps short of him. "Well, here I am."

Vegeta grimaced from the smell of alcohol and a particular scar-faced idiot. What the hell was she doing spending time with him?

As the awkwardness sat between them, Bulma looked him up and down, seeing the large wound on his leg, covered in blood and dripping. She then looked behind her to see the trail of blood down the corridor. "What happened to you? You're bleeding."

He refrained from clapping sarcastically, as that might have hurt him. Wasn't she used to seeing him beaten up? Sometimes, he was convinced she was the smartest creature on the planet, and other times, he knew she was a dunce.

"Come down to the first aid room," Bulma said, pointing down the corridor.

"No, I'm fine," he said gruffly, forcing him to clear his throat.

"But your leg—"

"Just go away." He waved her off, as if she was a fly at a picnic.

By now, Bulma knew that 'go away' or 'leave me alone' was Vegeta's way of crying out for help. So she crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at him as he turned to face her.

"What did you want to speak to me about, hm?" she said.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"My mom told me you wanted to speak to me."

"Well, she's mistaken. I'm going to my room to rest," he said, turning around and stepping towards his bedroom door.

Bulma threw her hands up. "Fine, suit yourself." And she went back downstairs.

* * *

><p>Was the bathroom supposed to be spinning?<p>

Vegeta splashed his face with cool water repeatedly, allowing it to trickle into his ears, drip down his face and patter to the floor. It felt … nice. He closed his eyes to prolong that moment of peace, a state he knew would only be temporary, because eventually, he'd have to open his eyes again, and face the world he had grown accustom to.

The earth clothes he was wearing were torn, shredded, and hanging off him, making him look like some wretched street urchin. Carefully, he hooked his thumbs around the waist band of, what used to be, a good pair of jeans, and proceeded to pull them down, until they dropped, with a damp and heavy thud, to the bathroom floor. They were quickly kicked across the floor, creating a thick sloshing sound as they hit the radiator.

It was time to open his eyes. Time to remember that he was still who he was. Time to look at one's self in the mirror and hate what one sees. A twinge in his leg beckoned him to open his eyes and see what he'd done to himself. When looking down, he saw a shard of metal lodged in the side of his right calf, still oozing and coagulating with sticky blood. The wound itself was filthy, with tiny stones stuck in, and cemented around the blood. The funny thing was, he couldn't remember quite how it got there. Perhaps he'd battered himself so far beyond his pain threshold that he'd become somewhat numb. But, he could definitely feel it now.

He exhaled deeply, and then dug his fingers into the wound, trying to find the root of the metal. If he pulled it out harshly from the top, it might have snapped and become worse than it already was. The pain rendered him nauseous, as he prodded and tried to manipulate the shard out of his leg. Again, he closed his eyes. The pain was too much. He was too weak to endure it anymore. But just as he was about to stop and leave it in there for good, it eased out under his index finger, and dropped to the floor, followed by a flow of blood.

Vegeta lifted the bloodied hand to his face, opened his eyes. Staring at his scabby hand, he only saw red. A throbbing in his head forced him to hunch over the sink and wretch. Since when had he felt like this? Merely stomach bile was produced, burning his throat and making his body temperature rise to unbearable levels. With his hands gripped to the sides of the sink, and thinking that that was the last of the sickness, he lifted his head to see his reflection in the mirror. His face was smeared in blood, lashings of it, on his arms and chest. His eyes were not dark, yet they were red, surrounded by thousands of burst blood vessels.

Who the hell was that? he thought, as he stepped back, his eyes wide with horror.

As he stepped back, his bare feet slipped, and he dropped his stare to the floor. Or what used to be the floor. Now it was just a pool of blood, at least two inches deep. To his horror, the blood was smeared across the bathtub, and red handprints, depicting some sort of struggle, were smudged on the shower curtain.

Vegeta's heart was beating, thudding in his chest, at what he was about to see, as he stepped closer to the bath tub. What had he done? Was he so out of it that he had killed again?

Sweat collected on his forehead. A cold sweat. He wiped it off with his forearm, and looked into the bath to see Bulma, her throat torn out, and her eyes wide open. One of her arms was draped over the side of the bath, and blood was dripping off her fingers. Pattering. Pattering.

"What's going on in here?" a distant voice said.

Vegeta felt his power slipping away. Unable to blink, he shook his head and stepped away from the massacre, thudding into something, which made him whip around in defence.

He grabbed the offender round the throat, squeezing and pummelling them into the wall. He still couldn't blink. He was a monster. That's what he was. No matter what people tried to tell him otherwise. Now that he'd killed the only person who seemed to give a genuine damn about him, he felt there was no way back.

His hand was able to wrap completely around the offenders neck, and it felt like he was in control again. Making the kill. The only thing he could do. Prey on the weak.

A soft weeping sound finally made him blink, and see what he was really doing. The first thing he saw was Bulma, alive and under his tight grip, tears dribbling out of closed eyes. He blinked again. He dropped her to the floor.

Was this real? Was he hallucinating again? He hoped so.

Shame stopped him from looking at her, as she wept on the bathroom floor. The only thing he could do was stare at his trembling hands, and wonder why he had hurt her. What had happened to him for him to blank out so much? He honestly couldn't remember.

The bathtub was empty. There wasn't any blood inside the tub, or on the shower curtains. He looked at his leg, assuming that was hallucinated too, but it was still rotten, and scabby, and there was still a small pool of blood on the floor.

"Vegeta …" Bulma said, rubbing her neck and struggling to get to her feet.

His mouth wouldn't open to respond. The words had to be forced out. "What are you _doing _in here? Why can't you just leave me alone?" he shouted, and turned around to see her standing crooked, blood on her dress, and a dishevelled bandage in her hand.

"I-"she said, looking at his leg, before Vegeta squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and then shot out of the room, and out of the window.

* * *

><p>Only an hour had passed before he felt too exhausted to fly around any longer. So he retreated back to Capsule Corp, and back to his room, where he planned to sleep, wake up, and forget that all of the day's events had taken place.<p>

While he circled West city, he couldn't grasp what he had done. He wrapped his hands … around Bulma's neck … probably almost killing her. And then he ran away. True, Bulma was a pain, but he didn't want her dead. That was easy to agree with now. He definitely wanted her alive. For what, he didn't know.

Why did he lash out like that?

The fact was, he'd have to face her again, and he didn't know if he could do that. In fact, he felt like an intruder, climbing into his own bedroom window. It was true that he'd crossed the line with Bulma, and her family. His son … if Trunks ever grew up to find out that his own father had strangled his mother, what would he think? That wasn't behaviour he wanted his son to copy.

Vegeta wanted to apologise, he did, but it wasn't in his nature to do so. He had to leave. Slowly, he was deteriorating, and couldn't understand why. The nightmares, the hallucinations. What was the root of all of it? What was his problem? Since the Cell games—since his failure—he hadn't been the same.

As he slid the balcony door open, he, somehow, wasn't the least bit surprised to see Bulma sitting on his bed. What he was surprised at was seeing her sitting there so calmly, with her glasses on and some notes in front of her. And, thankfully, as he came closer to her, he couldn't see any mark on her neck by his hands. He must have barely used any strength towards her …

Bulma looked up from her notes, taking her glasses off and smiling lightly at Vegeta. "I haven't any sensu beans, so these bandages will have to do for your leg," she said, picking up the white material, and shrugging.

He was stunned, frozen. Did he, or did he not just attack this woman? And now she was sitting on his bed wanting to bandage his wounds. He looked down at his leg, long forgotten that he'd even hurt it. It was hard to look at. There was even a couple of flies lodged in the mass of sticky gunk.

Bulma couldn't help but notice that Vegeta had been swooping around in just his boxer shorts. She hoped to God that no one saw anything.

"Why?" Vegeta coughed to clear his dry throat, and continued, "Why are you so persistent on annoying me—"

"Vegeta, please, just let me do this before it gets any worse than it already is," she said, unravelling the bandage with one hand, and tapping the space next to her with the other.

He walked over and sat out across the bed, so that his leg was next to Bulma's thigh. He'd never been so co-operative in his life.

Bulma arched an eyebrow. Since when did he do what she'd said? He was hurting. She knew that. And it wasn't the fact that he'd touched her that made her cry before, because he hadn't hurt her at all. It was the distant look in his eyes. It wasn't him. It didn't even look like him. She didn't know who it was. And that scared her. If Vegeta was going to be there for his son, he really needed some help, whether he wanted it or not.

She produced a bottle of antiseptic wash, and dabbed it onto a cotton cloth, before carefully wiping the area around the wound. Textbook stuff, really. She crumpled her face at the sight of it.

"How did you get like this?" she said, frowning with concentration.

"The training facilities here don't meet my standards anymore," he said, scrutinising her movement.

Bulma stopped and looked at Vegeta. "Ah, so you _did _want to speak to me."

Vegeta turned his head. "I need a new gravity simulator. The old one is useless to me now."

"Duh," she said, applying some more wash to a new cloth. "You're way stronger now." She smiled, and dabbed the wound delicately.

"I know," Vegeta said matter-of-factly, feeling his chest tighten at her words.

"So, what you're trying to say, is: 'Bulma, can you please make me a new gravity simulator?'" She grinned, then frowned as she picked a dead blue bottle out of the cluster of blood. Her eyes met his, as she tossed the dead fly aside. "Are you ready to train again?"

"Of course I am."

"You do know … it'll take me at least another month … and with the vacation." Bulma tossed another dirty cloth aside, and produced a giant cotton wool bud, to which she soaked in the anti-septic wash, and pressed it on the wound, applying a bit of pressure.

"Vacation?" Vegeta said, frowning and bracing his arms either side of the bed. The woman was going on vacation? She was always on vacation …

"Yeah, I'm going away for a couple weeks. To Hawaii," she beamed. "Trunks too." She couldn't believe she hadn't told him already, or that he hadn't heard her talk about it.

"What for?" Vegeta asked, genuinely.

Bulma shrugged. "A break." A heavy sigh escaped her lips. "From this place." Quickly she picked up the bandage, and started wrapping it in layers from the bottom of Vegeta's calf.

"Tch," Vegeta muttered, and crossed his arms, although he felt very relaxed under her touch at that moment. He could have easily fallen asleep. In fact, he had to try hard not to.

Bulma stopped wrapping when she reached the wound, and wiped it down one more time. Now that it was clean, she could see how deep it was, like something had been lodged in there. Saiyans aren't like Namekians. If they lose a limb, it's most likely not to grow back. But she was surprised every day by Vegeta.

"If you can hold out 'til then," she said.

"When?"

"When what?"

"When are you going?" he said, closing his eyes.

"Next Monday."

That was _not _a week away. That was four days away.

"There. Done," Bulma said, tapping his newly bandaged leg, lightly.

Vegeta opened his eyes to witness the mess that was his leg. It wasn't half bad. "Considering your inebriated state, this isn't too terrible."

"Psh. I'm not drunk. That was _hours _ago."

"Doesn't smell like it," he said, grimacing.

Bulma cupped a hand around her mouth and exhaled into it. "Oh my God. Do I stink of cocktails?"

"I can smell some sort of diseased mongrel on you. One with a scar on its face, presumably from a scrap down a dark alley somewhere …"

Bulma rolled her eyes, and started placing all the dirty cloths and cotton pieces into an empty bag. "Yeah, he gave me a ride home."

Vegeta refrained from thinking the worst out of that statement, and instead decided to ignore it.

Possibly, Bulma was a bit giddy from the night's alcohol intake, but she felt alright; although looking at Vegeta so peaceful like he was, was starting a feeling within her chest again. She turned away from him, and tied the top of the bag into a triple knot, before thinking 'to hell with it'. It was the first time they'd spoken since their little mishap the other week. To be honest, she was kind of impressed with how he was handling it, minus the bout of strangulation, of course.

She bit her lip. "I feel like I owe you an apology," she said, getting up off the bed, bag in hand.

Vegeta paid a little bit of interest to her face, before getting up and wandering to his closet to put something decent on. Just when he thought her company wasn't _that _bad, she had to spoil it with a tirade of babbling. He wanted to ask her what the bloody hell she wanted now, but instead he left it for her to explain. Maybe if he allowed her to talk, she'd find her own answers. That, and he wasn't really listening.

"I think it's my state of mind … with the medication …" she said, twisting the ties on the bag.

He continued to sift through the draws at the bottom of the closet, looking for a pair of his favourite, blue shorts.

" … And one minute you're pushing me away … then the next you're trying to _kiss _me …"

Settling for a pair of white boxers instead, he turned round, to find Bulma right in front of him.

"I mean to say … I'm sorry …"

Galvanised with shock, Vegeta stuttered a response in order to get rid of her. Now she was crossing the line. "The first aid is appreciated, but I have no concern for your apologies … nor do I require your company—"

The words were muted by Bulma's pressing her lips into his own, delicately.

She leaned towards him, tilting her body weight against him. It wasn't included in her plan, but the closer she got to him, the more she wanted to feel him again. The more she wanted to feel _for _him. It was too complicated to explain, so actions had to work better. And it felt … it felt fine. Right.

Vegeta's eyes remained open for a couple of seconds, wondering what the hell had led her to believe that he wanted this again. Then he thought back to the other week, when she had rejected him. He hoped this wasn't out of sympathy. That was the last thing he wanted. But after all the stress he had endured today, feeling her against him the way she was now, seemed right. Ok.

Bulma reached a hand up to his face, and he held her elbow, initially to pull her away from him, but now it was to steady her balance. It was hard to ignore the stench of Yamcha, and grapefruits, and Vodka, but he managed to do so. His hand moved up to rest on her shoulder, while she rubbed his cheek with her thumb, and pulled her lips away from his.

As much as he wanted to lay her down on the bed, it felt acceptable that she pull away from him when she did, and he allowed her to step back to look at him properly. To see who he was now. When in her company.

Bulma rubbed her swollen lips with her fingers, and blushed; looking away, like Vegeta was the first boy she'd kissed. Her eyes met his, him staring at her with a look of bereft in his dark eyes. They were dark again. He was himself, and she'd brought him back down to earth.

"I'll try and get started on a new gravity simulator. You're just gunna have to be patient," she said.

Vegeta merely blinked a response.

"Goodnight, Vegeta," Bulma said, and left the room.

The room was warm. It had definitely stopped spinning. The walls were blue, his favourite colour. His leg wasn't hurting as much anymore. Yes, he still had bloodied shorts on, but aside from that, everything seemed to have settled. And at that moment, Vegeta thought, he wouldn't mind waiting for Bulma to create a new gravity simulator. He was happy to wait … for a bit. What he wasn't happy about … was that vacation she had been talking about, because he could bet the fate of this planet that that God damn fool, Yamcha, was going to be there.


	7. A little misconception

Igniting The Fire

Chapter 7

* * *

><p>They'd been arguing for a while. Something had been smashed; it sounded like a TV … He heard glass, anyway. Words flew out of her mouth that he never thought he'd hear her say. It was odd, but all the same, rather entertaining. Apparently they'd had a fantastic day at the baseball game with <em>Trunks <em>and then that buffoon tried it on with her again and she just … well, she barked and barked until he heard the poor son of a Namek surrender, begging for her to be quiet. But, no, she continued.

Vegeta wasn't one to prise into these pathetic earthlings' affairs, but as it happened, he was taking a quick—well deserved—nap in the garden when all hell broke loose between those two idiots. And, yes, his curiosity got the best of him, so he _had _to listen. Even if he didn't want to listen, her shrieking voice had got the entire neighbourhood peeking out of their windows.

The shouting got louder. No doubt that moron was being kicked out once and for all. Vegeta didn't doubt that that incessant creature would return to the woman in a matter of days. Something sparked in him when the thought of her welcoming him back again was raised. Nonchalantly, he lolled his head against the tree behind him, and waited, expectantly watching the front door to Capsule Corp.

"No, I'm sick of it. You need to get it into your head, Yamcha. N-O spells NO!" That was her again. Even louder still. He smirked when the orange band of light from the hall way shone on the grass. The door was open, ready for scar face's departure.

"I don't understand …" said Yamcha, backing out of the door.

"Urgh. Go before my head actually explodes, please." Only Bulma's dainty arm, pointing in the direction of the street beyond the compound, was visible for Vegeta to see.

"But, B?" Yamcha held his hands out imploringly, which only made Vegeta's smirk grow into a full grin.

"Go," Bulma yelled, and the patch of light disappeared when the door was slammed in Yamcha's face.

Yamcha sniffed and straightened his baseball cap, unfazed, before turning to walk to his car, catching sight of Vegeta, leaning against a tree. "I don't know what you're grinning for. This is all _your _fault." And he paced to his car, head down. If smoke did emit from human beings, Yamcha would have been surrounded by it.

The words Vegeta could have said would have only been a waste against that cretin. Instead, he chuckled to himself and sat down on the grass. Well, that was his entertainment for the day. To be perfectly honest, he was bored out of his mind. Sitting under a tree all day seemed more exhausting than a full day of training in the Gravity room. Back before he transformed, of course. The reason why he felt so exhausted was because he was trying God damn hard to get some sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, his thoughts would override any sensation of tiredness. And, as usual, he would get lost in them until an hour had passed, and then another hour, then another one … It was so bloody frustrating, he felt forced to listen to his surroundings. Unfortunately, it was too good to be true, relishing in the white noise of the city, and it was only a matter of time before the banshee returned to spoil his peace. He hadn't planned on becoming so involved in her little debacle with scar face that he would listen intently for almost an hour. All the time he wondered: How hard was it to tell that idiot to leave? He could have killed him in a split second. There. Problem solved.

Vegeta frowned to himself. What had he become? Taking interest in that sort of shit. A cold shower was the first thing to came to mind.

A door slamming and a jingle of keys stopped Vegeta from thinking about cleansing himself in acid, and instead, he opened his eyes to see Bulma, flustered and red-faced, charging across the lawn. His first instinct was to camouflage himself in the foliage, but that would have taken some serious skill and better timing.

He was fast. Not _that _fast.

He watched as she stomped across the grass, straightening a large bag on her shoulder. She was pissed, alright. He'd seen that look before, many times. Best thing would be to stay away, but he was stuck. A thought tickled him. Could he possibly get her even more infuriated than she already was? It was an easy challenge that he was eager to accept, because, God damn it, he was bored. Besides, he felt quite comfortable being around her, and frankly, she seemed to be the only person on this rock that he could be himself with.

Kind of …

"Woman," he said, cocking his head and looking her up and down, as she continued to pace. Dressing decently was obviously something Earthlings did not know how to do. What was that vulgar, peach, frilly thing she was wearing? A dress?

She shook her finger at him. "Wrong time, buddy. _Wrong _time."

Aghast by her dismissal, Vegeta's blood boiled. She wasn't even going to stop when he was speaking to her? That wasn't how a prince was supposed to be treated. Eye contact at _all _times.

He stood back, trying to keep his cool. "Where do you think you're going?"

Bulma stopped a few yards shy of her jet, and heaved a sigh of exasperation. "Nowhere. Now you just go back to sleeping under your little tree."

"I was not sleeping," Vegeta said incredulously, narrowing his eyes at her.

Rummaging for her keys, and far too distracted to bother with whatever Vegeta was saying, Bulma muttered to herself. "I don't care what you're doing …" Then she proceeded to head for her jet, until, under the sheer force of her anger, her left flip flop came flying off her foot and swept under the jet.

Bulma cried out and threw her keys to the floor, before falling to her knees to have a look under the jet for the flimsy footwear. She was stretching under there for a minute or so, before she returned to the surface with a mucky looking flip flop in her hand. She dusted it down before slipping it back on her foot. As if her day couldn't get any worse, she couldn't place where she'd thrown her keys. Frantically, she spun round, scanning the floor until she felt dizzy and had to stop. When she composed herself and looked up, Vegeta was standing in her face, scowling, and holding out the keys at arm's length.

"Driving under the influence will only get you killed," he said, smirking and pulling the keys back out of her reach. This woman really was amusing. He could do this all day. Despite the fact that the day was almost over.

"I'm not drunk, asshole," Bulma said, snatching through the darkness for the keys.

"I didn't say you were. But you're fuelled with rage. That's obvious. " He crossed his arms and looked at her quizzically. Was there sweat trickling down her forehead?

"Oh, that's some super advice coming from the incredible hulk, over here," she said, guffawing, and rolling her eyes.

Before he could question who or what the incredible hulk was, she continued her rant. " I'm sick of people telling me what to do. Why don't they ever stop and think about what _I _want. Or, even better, back the hell away." Bulma finally got a hold of the keys and yanked them out of Vegeta's hands, while he stared at her blankly.

For a few seconds, while she searched through the ten or more keys that were stupidly on the one set, Vegeta thought about her words, and how familiar they sounded. Something intrigued him. There was more to it than _just _that Yamcha idiot. What was on her mind? Why did he care, to be precise? Well, what else was he going to do for the rest of the day?

He held his hand out, while Bulma continued to curse under her breath. He'd never heard such vile terms in his life, and he'd purged planets with the worst, most grotesque creatures you had ever seen. He figured it like this: If she thought her life was hard, as it was now, she needed to be exposed to hardship, because she really had no idea what a hard life was like. Bitterness and rage should have been the feelings he felt, but he just felt pity, and at the same time, a little bit of fondness.

"Stop whining and hand me the keys," he said, sparking her attention again.

Bulma snapped her head up, her eyes widened with disbelief. "No," she said, pulling the keys away from him, so he wouldn't even think about trying to snatch them again. "Get your own keys."

"Do you realise how foolish you sound. Believe me, woman, I will not be offering this _ever_ again, so hand me the keys _now_." He gestured towards the keys again.

Bulma scrutinised him, narrowing her eyes, and keeping the keys well away from him. What was his game? "You're kidding?" She said, a weary edge to her voice.

He was losing his patience, so he quickly grabbed her arm, grasped the keys, opened the jet roof and chucked her in. It wasn't long before the squawking started again.

Bulma didn't even know what had just happened. Did she fly? The landing was too soft though. She lifted her head and swept her damp hair out of her eyes. She was in the passenger seat of the jet, and there was Vegeta. Climbing into the driver's seat?

No …

"Vegeta, don't you dare man-handle me like that ever again!" she said, pointing a finger at him, as he lowered himself into a sitting position.

"Be quiet, before I throw you onto something a little more concrete," he said, a flicker of a smirk on his face.

"What, like, your head?" Bulma folded her arms and slumped in her chair.

"No, like your arse."

Her eyes widened. "You're lucky I know how to deal with this kind of _crap _on a daily basis. Otherwise you'd be dead right now."

Vegeta laughed, turning the ignition on. He hadn't a clue where he would go, or why he was going, really. Maybe an idea would come to him sooner or later. The amount of times that woman had banged on about him telling her how he felt and what not, maybe the time was right. Not to talk about feelings, because that made him _feel _sick. He would, perhaps, tell her about his life. How he got to where he is today. She deserved that much, he felt.

Bulma sat looking out of the window, scowling like a spoilt child. All the while, she was hiding her utter, shameful glee from him. It was so unusual for Vegeta to want to do anything for her. It was nice, in a way. Initially, she wanted to be alone, and despite putting up her best front, Vegeta was the one person she didn't mind being with. Out of every one of her friends, Vegeta was the first person to come to mind. Was he her friend, though?

She watched him from her peripheral. Was he on drugs or something? He must have been. For him to actively seek her attention, and then offer to do _this_—whatever the hell it was—was just beyond belief.

Bulma bit her bottom lip, and returned to look out of the window. If this was Vegeta warming to her, then she didn't mind at all.

* * *

><p>Outside, beyond the glare of the fog lights, it was complete darkness. A few particles of dirt flew by and splodged against the windscreen, but other than that, there was nothing to look at. Looking was all Bulma could do, anyway, because Vegeta wasn't a very good conversationalist, to say the least. They'd been flying round for over an hour, and it was getting really late. Bulma felt a bit apprehensive. Why didn't she think twice about getting into a vehicle, when Vegeta had <em>offered <em>to fly? Where was he taking her?

Oh God …

What if he was taking her so far away, so that no one would hear her screams when he killed her? Was she really that annoying to him? She shook her head lightly, catching Vegeta's eye. No, if he wanted to kill her, he would have done it there and then. That was a no brainer. No one could stop him. Why did she even think those things? Wasn't she past that?

The window was a little steamed up, so she wiped it with the sleeve of her cardigan, and then peered out of the glass to see … nothing.

That was it. If he was planning on going somewhere, she had to know where.

"Vegeta, we've been flying for a while now. I think we should go back," she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. It had never occurred to her how attractive Vegeta looked doing normal things—like driving. It was a turn on, for some annoying reason.

His eye twitched, and he shook his head lightly. The silence wasn't too bad. He should have known that she'd break it so easily.

Bulma clucked her tongue and looked around the jet for something to do. There wasn't anything. Only Vegeta. "You know, your flying isn't half bad. I haven't feared for my life, at all."

The second the words left her mouth, the jet dipped about twenty feet, sending her stomach into her throat. She grabbed onto the seat and braced herself for impact, before she heard a sinister chuckle coming from beside her. When she looked up, Vegeta was holding onto the steering wheel tightly. Not because he, too, panicked, but because he was suffering from the effects of _actual _laughter.

Bulma, on the other hand, didn't find it too amusing. "Holy _shit_. Don't you dare do that again." But as she said it, the jet lowered, not as abruptly as the first time, but it lowered smoothly, as if coming in to land somewhere. She looked at Vegeta, who was fixed, staring at the darkness in front of him.

Again, Bulma pressed her face against the glass to get a look at where the hell they were, but still, nothing was clear enough for her to see.

The jet finally landed with a bit of a clunk, and amongst the fog lights, Bulma could see a mass of rocks, dirt and rubble, grouped with a small cloud of moths. Where the hell had he taken her? Was _that _it?

She swivelled, only to see an impassive expression on Vegeta's face, as he clicked the engine off. "Why've you stopped here? There's nothing here …" she said, her mouth open a little as she awaited his response. _Any _response would have been swell.

Vegeta switched the fog lights off, and flicked the lights on the dashboard, so that they weren't sitting in _complete _darkness. The soft orange glow reflected off both of their faces, only making him seem more God-like than ever; like a beam from the heavens was shining on just him.

He didn't want to respond to her question. She should have been able to figure it out for herself, but taken that her human eye sight was poor in comparison to his; he felt the need to answer.

For a few seconds, he sat still, absentmindedly staring out at the past, and he could see Bulma from his peripheral, leaning closer to the windscreen, as if she was missing something. She looked back at him helplessly, a deep crease in her brow.

Still looking dead ahead, Vegeta answered her question. "This … is where I fought in the battle with Cell."

It was like a sudden switch had been pressed in Bulma's head, and she instantly reclined in her seat, and gazed at the rocky terrain outside. She hadn't known. Well, she'd seen the broadcast, but it sure didn't look like what it did now. Not that she could see much, with it being dark and all … That wasn't why he had taken her there, though, was it?

"_This _is where the Cell games took place?" she said. Cell sure knew how to pick 'em.

He briefly nodded.

"Oh … but why have you stopped _here_?"

"I thought it would help," Vegeta said. His chest warmed, as he thought about what he'd just said. Like he had taken a step away from his pride for a moment, and spoke his mind for a change. It didn't feel as bad as he thought it was going to feel.

Stunned, Bulma blinked a couple of times, not sure of how to respond to Vegeta opening up to her. Could you call it that? Sure, it had happened before, but that was after an entire bottle of whiskey. "I see …" was the only practical thing she could think to say. What else was she supposed to say? She wasn't there. It wasn't like she could have said 'ah, yes, I remember that particular rock,' and nod appreciatively at their surroundings.

Vegeta pinched his brow. Bulma was beginning to see how physically hard it was for him to express his thoughts and feelings. After all this time, she had never seen him make any effort to do so. This was new, and a little bit nerving.

"The majority of the time, the battle grounds are no longer here, after I've fought on the front line."

The engine made a ticking sound. It was cooling down from the long drive, Bulma thought, her eyes flittering to the dash board.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"When I purged planets for Frieza, the planet was either obliterated, or completely stripped of its earth, ready for selling." He quickly glanced at her, quite content to see that he'd got her full attention. She was listening to him, and she was interested in what he was saying. "When I was a warrior, I was taught to never look back."

"But you still are a warrior—"

"I'm no warrior. Not anymore." He looked down at his palms, and then squeezed them into tight fists.

"Sometimes it helps, revisiting places that jump start emotion," she said, looking back outside the window. She wanted to open the window, but there was quite a harsh wind, which sounded a little scary, especially in such an open space. If Vegeta wasn't there, she would have been freaking out.

"There is already life forming again here." Vegeta said, returning to look out the window.

Bulma couldn't see a thing, but she knew he was probably right. "That's earth for ya. You can beat it up all you want, but it'll always come back stronger." She paused. "Sorta like you, I guess."

"I failed here, Bulma."

Just hearing him say her name made her stomach flutter. She leaned closer to him, and was thankful to find him acting completely unfazed. "You didn't _fail_. Cell is dead, and we have you to thank for that. Hey, even I deserve a bit of recognition," she said, puffing her chest up triumphantly.

"You did nothing," Vegeta said scornfully.

Bulma recoiled, and stuck her hands out. "Um, hello? I created that awesome Saiyan armour for everyone."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Which was torn to pieces by Cell's rampant offspring."

Bulma threw her hands up. "I didn't know those guys were gunna show up, did I?" She sighed. "Jeez. You make a bit of effort to help save the world …" She drifted away when she noticed Vegeta's eyes were glistening. Oh God. Was he crying? "Hey, you OK?" Any more stress, and she was pretty sure she would have been the person crying. Not Vegeta.

"I'm fine. Stop asking me that," he said, turning towards her to see her reading into his expression.

Giving a small heave of relief, when she realised Vegeta was in fact _not_ crying at all, Bulma held her hands up in defence. "Ok, ok. Sorry." Damn, she was a little _too_ concerned for him. Usually she wouldn't notice it, but how could she _not _realise the cotton in her hands, which she was trying to wrap Vegeta up in. That was what being a mother had done to her …

"Stop apologising," he snapped.

Why did she have to apologise when she hadn't done anything wrong? This woman, who would always go out of her way to help him, was apologising to _him_?

"Erm, Ok," Bulma said, taken aback by the venom in his voice.

The conversation between them had dried out pretty quickly, and before long, Bulma had resorted to biting her nails. So much for Vegeta opening his heart to her … What did she honestly expect? When she glanced over at him again, he was looking up at the stars, his dark eyes wide and transfixed.

Yep, definitely on drugs.

Did Vegeta even know how to behave amongst a friend? True, she dearly wished she was more than that, but it was a start … if you skipped the part where the friends had sex and conceived a child …

"When you worked for Frieza … Did you have any … friends?" she said sheepishly and in between bites of her nails.

"Not really," he said quickly.

"Associates?"

Vegeta looked at her suspiciously. What was she up to? "I had fellow warriors. Friends are just a hindrance."

"Yeah, that bald guy was an ass."

"Nappa was _not _my friend," he said sternly, scowling at Bulma.

"I dunno. You guys seemed to get along great—"

"I killed him," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. Had she forgotten about that?

Not really wanting to hear, or be reminded of Vegeta's mass murdering days, Bulma switched the tone a little. "Hey, let me tell you … The amount of times I've wanted to kill Goku." She mimed cocking a gun and then pulling the trigger.

"We share something in common, then," Vegeta said, watching her and being slightly turned on by her behaviour.

Bulma stopped. "Hmm … I wouldn't say that. The difference is, buddy, I'm only kidding."

"Yes. Kakarrot is already dead."

"Nice and subtle, as always, Vegeta," Bulma said, shaking her head.

The wind rattled the exterior of the jet, sending shivers down Bulma's spine. All she had to do was look over at Vegeta, who was finally wearing that nice, purple polo shirt she had bought him a while back, and she felt safe. Unusual, considering the amount of people he had killed in the past …

She pulled her cardigan around her. "Sure is creepy out here, huh?"

"Not really," Vegeta said, shrugging a little.

"But when you think about what happened here … Now it's so quiet and deserted."

Sudden bumps appeared all up and down Vegeta's arms, and he didn't feel so relaxed anymore. It _was _strange to think of the lives that were lost here, and all the power that was drained, and all the blood that was spilled. And, yes, when he looked outside at the large empty space and the huge canyon of earth from when Gohan finally defeated Cell, it was a bit eerie.

"It's crazy," Bulma continued, "when I talk about this kinda stuff to my friends, they don't really want to hear it." Whether Vegeta was looking at her or not, she knew he was listening to her every word. "I find it so interesting … how this planet can continue to grow and flourish after everything that's happened to it."

"There's nothing interesting about it. It's a constant life cycle," Vegeta said, catching her beauty, as she gazed up at the stars.

"It goes beyond that, though," she muttered.

It was true. The planet was stronger than he thought. The planet Vegeta had been destroyed easily. He wondered. If the people of Vegeta were even half as united as the people on Earth, would the planet have still been around today? It was strangely annoying dwelling on what could have been. The facts were the in front of him, as horrible and realistic as they were … He'd suffered a brutal, brutal past, and yet, here he was, sitting relatively peacefully with an earthling woman, who he was growing fonder of by the day.

"Scar face," he said, bringing Bulma back down to earth.

"Huh?"

"If he harms you, I can kill him instantly." Vegeta quickly turned away from Bulma, as she smirked.

It was becoming more and more obvious that Vegeta had feelings for her, and just the little gestures like that—little in the sense that it was something for her, not the fact he was offering to slaughter someone for her—which sent her stomach flipping, and her skin tingling. Forget roses, or chocolates. Just have someone killed. It's the most romantic gesture anyone could offer-

Bulma snapped out of her day dream, and then really thought about what Vegeta had said. Yamcha _harming _her? No man had ever harmed her … "Yamcha wouldn't hurt me, Vegeta."

And with her response, Vegeta stared at the floor, not forgetting the night before, when he wrapped his hands around her neck.

Bulma gasped, not meaning for him to think about what happened. Besides, she knew he wouldn't have hurt her. He _didn't _hurt her. "Vegeta, I can handle myself." Then she grinned. "You don't have to be so jealous, y'know."

His lifted his head up and shot her a deadly glare. "My hatred for him has nothing to do with you."

Bulma laughed. "Yeah, right. Sure it does. You can't stand him hanging around me … Just admit it," she crossed her arms and leered towards him.

A blush appeared on his cheeks. "He's a pest. I've killed him before. I can kill him again!"

"Ok, tough guy. Calm down … digressing won't help the situation."

Boiling with anger, Vegeta felt more than eager to fly out of the jet, but something was stopping him. He certainly hadn't finished what he'd come to do.

Several minutes later, Bulma was growing uncomfortable with the silence, so she reached for the radio dial, and tuned through a number of crackly stations.

"What do you think you're doing," Vegeta said, looking at her as if she'd just slapped a kitten.

"There's an amazing station that plays white noise kinda stuff. Y'know, relaxing background noise," she said, still tuning through the channels.

Vegeta couldn't help but notice the pink, stringy underwear peeking out of her skirt thing, as she was sat forward. He looked away and huffed.

"Well you're not exactly the chatty type!" Bulma said, leaning back, allowing the noise of waves lapping and seagulls calling to drown the jet.

Looking at the radio in disgust, as if it was personally the radio's fault, Vegeta reached for the dial to turn the damn thing off. Peaceful? He'd rather listen to her and scar face nattering at each other than listen to this shit.

Bulma slapped his hand before he could reach the dial. He was pleasantly surprised by her speed.

"Just give it a chance," she said, closing her eyes, feeling the sounds.

Uncomfortably, Vegeta slowly mirrored Bulma's actions and closed his eyes, allowing the sounds to soothe him. After a few minutes, he did feel … quite relaxed-

"You know … This is like a date … sitting here together, listening to relaxing sounds …" Bulma said.

Peering out of one eye, Vegeta saw Bulma still lolling back, her eyes shut and a little smile on her face. The annoying creature. Just as he was drifting off, she had to announce the most stupid, unnecessary and pointless thing ever.

"It's _not _a date."

"I said it's _like _a date."

"No, it isn't."

"Well, of course it isn't. We're not even friends, are we?" After getting no response, Bulma prodded Vegeta in his arm, and she had to stop herself from feeling around his bicep. "_Are _we, Vegeta?"

Why couldn't she just shut up? "No," he said, finally, batting her hand away.

"What are we, then?"

Opening his eyes, and leaning forwards, Vegeta accepted that trying to get some rest was _not _going to happen with this woman around. "We're parents of a half breed brat."

"_Trunks_, Vegeta. His _name_ is _Trunks_." That man was constantly trying to get under her skin. Why did he have to label their son as 'brat'? What sort of father did that … Oh, of course.

"Terrible name," he said.

The sounds on the radio shifted to 'the sounds of the amazon', and Vegeta instantly noticed that monkeys certainly did not call from the ocean … He'd learnt _that _much about this planet.

Bulma scoffed. "Well I don't remember you standing there with a list of names … Oh, that's right. You were in _space_."

Was that it? Was she finally taking her rage out on him, for not being there for the birth of their son? Shame washed over him at the thought of her dealing with all of that. Then again, she was clearly strong enough to handle that otherwise she wouldn't have been around to tell the story. It was hard to deny how … impressed he was with her.

"I had to," he finally said.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," she said, waving her hand dismissively.

She was looking out the window. Obviously she felt that it wasn't important, his absence at such a crucial time. But it was. It _did _matter to him now. He was a hate filled warrior, only striving to be the best. Now that he was no longer a warrior, he could see his own flaws. And they shone, blinding him. It was hard to look past how much of a failure he was.

"I'll be there for him for as long as I'm needed—"

"Vegeta, you'll _always _be needed … Trunks needs a father in his life. Not just some guy who appears for a couple of years and then vanishes into space."

"I can't—"

"Why not?"

"You wouldn't understand."

He didn't want to explain it, because he didn't really know how to. There was nothing stopping him, but himself. Always. He couldn't fight himself, so he just worked alongside.

"Vegeta?" Bulma arched an eyebrow and looked at him, like he'd said the dumbest thing.

"I can't stay here forever. I don't belong here. Never will. I'm Saiyan. Not Earthling. I've very little concern for this place or its inhabitants …"

"I want you to stay here," Bulma said, blatantly exposing her feelings to him. She didn't really care anymore. A couple of years ago, the thought of rejection made her feel sick, but now she knew how to deal with it, especially when it came from Vegeta. It was definitely unacceptable, but she could handle it well.

And as if he could read her mind, he sat there and shook his head solemnly. It was a 'no' again. Oh well, Bulma sighed inwardly.

"Ok, but if you ever change your mind," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You're always welcome at Capsule Corp." She smiled.

He didn't expect the feel of her skin on his. Quickly, he shrugged her hand off his shoulder, hearing a small sigh from her, and he said, "That won't be necessary."

So, that was it. A shrug and a snarl, and their conversation was over. The worst part of all of it was, Bulma felt a sense of relief envelope her body. So what if Vegeta wasn't prepared to stay with her, _right now_. They had at least a few years to work on it, and judging by his behaviour now, she had hope that he would continue to warm to her. No matter how badly she wanted him to feel deeply for her, and show their son the love and attention he needed, she was prepared to wait. Sure, the majority was unrealistic and far from comfortable for Vegeta (she couldn't change him completely, and didn't want to) but she was … not _happy_, but OK, to work with what they had.

Bulma managed to smile. "I guess you being here now, alive, is good enough for me," and with all that hope building in her heart, she took the very conscious decision to lay her head on Vegeta's shoulder.

He tensed, but didn't move. Whether it was because he physically couldn't, she didn't know. Everything seemed to melt, apart from Vegeta's rigid shoulder, and all the stress and hurt from the evening drifted out of her mind, and flew somewhere far into the distance. All that mattered, was the warmth of their bodies connecting.

It was where she was supposed to be. Next to him. But as her eyes fell upon the tiny, red digits, glowing on the dash board, showing 1:15am, she regrettably knew that the night was drawing to a close.

"Man, we should get back," she said, followed by a yawn.

The words were out there, sitting there for both of them to observe, but neither of them moved. Neither of them wanted to.

Vegeta pinned it down to some sort of witchcraft, as usual. Assuming that the music had cast a spell on his body, paralysing his muscles, so that she could attack him like this. And make him feel so … so calm.

Subtly, he turned his head, and his nose brushed her hair, which smelt of fresh mint leaves, and … a little bit of sweat. It was pleasant, though. He guessed the sweat was from the earlier brawl with scar face.

Just to make sure, he lifted his hand a few inches away from his lap. No, he wasn't under a spell, and wasn't paralysed.

And he wasn't prepared to disturb the peace between them. It had all happened so fast, he had no time to evade it. Instead, he closed his eyes. Only the faint echo of howler monkeys, the chirp of tropical birds, and the soft rustle of trees, was left to play in the jet.

* * *

><p>A humid haze hung over the jet in the early hours of the morning. Vegeta groaned, and inhaled a lump of wet air, before slowly coming to. The air was hot and thick, and Vegeta could feel his shirt sticking to him. Groggily, he opened his eyes to notice that he was still in the jet. Encased, in the middle of a deserted area, where the sun was glaring down on him. It was like waking up after the Cell games all over again.<p>

He went to open the window, but found that it was already open. God, it was hot. The bones of his back felt a bit sore, and his thighs felt numb. As he tried to shift the weight onto his backside, there seemed to be some pressure on his thighs, making it hard for him to do anything.

It was like a film of plastic was hanging in front of him. Everything seemed to look fuzzy and distorted. But when he saw whose head was resting on his lap, it was as if the plastic film evaporated into thin air, and his visual senses had repaired themselves completely.

He stiffened when he saw how close her head was to his morning glory. God damn that woman. Why did she have to treat him like a living pillow? He was _not _a pillow! Between the roaring heat, lack of oxygen, his morning erection, and Bulma's face dangerously close to it, the day seemed to take off on a good start, indeed. Just superb.

There had to be a way to remove her from his lap. She _had _to be removed.

Maybe his irrational behaviour got the better of him, as he merely nudged his thigh. Forgetting that she was so fragile, his 'nudge' appeared to send her four foot into the air, nearly smacking the roof of the jet.

When Bulma came crashing back down on to Vegeta's lap, her elbow colliding with his awake manhood, Vegeta had to hold his breath, in case he had actually died …

Bulma lifted herself up on her palms and rubbed her eyes, while Vegeta blindly grasped for the door handle, opened it and tumbled out of the jet, landing on the dry, hot rubble.

"Whu—Why is it so hot?" Bulma said, slipping back into reality. She blinked a few times, noting the sudden gust of air, and looked out at the heat waves rippling across the rocks outside.

It was day time? How long had she slept? And where was Vegeta?

As she turned to take a look at the time, she heard a few rocks crumbling, and her attention was quickly drawn to the jet door, which was left wide open. She loosened her shirt, which was stuck to her skin, and she hovered over the edge of the jet to survey her surroundings.

Vegeta was on the floor, crippled over in pain, his eyes wide open, and he was muttering words Bulma wished she wouldn't have heard.

What the hell was he doing? "Vegeta … Are you _ok_?" she asked from the driver's seat of the jet, suspicion and worry flowing through her.

"Woman, do not ask me that question!" he roared, getting to his knees, and breathing hard.

If his eyes would have widened any more, they would have fallen out of their sockets. She asked him if he was OK? After him telling her _not_ to ask him that God damn question. She did it again. What was wrong with her? Did he _look _OK? The heat pulsing on his crotch was incredibly painful. He couldn't help covering his dignity. She must not see it on any account!

"Well, you don't look OK," Bulma affirmed, trying to look at what he was hiding.

"There is your answer then," he said between rasped breaths. God, it hurt. Cell could slap him across the face any day … but this …

Before he could try and compose himself, he saw Bulma clambering out of the jet and start advancing towards him.

"Don't come near me," he shouted, scooting backwards on his backside, travelling over quite a few sharp stones.

She stopped and looked at him quizzically, trying to determine the problem. "I'm just trying to hel—"

She stopped and clasped a hand around her mouth when she saw what Vegeta was trying to protect. He may have been alien, but he was still male. If it was hot before, Bulma felt that the temperature had risen to an unbearable high in the last ten seconds. "I'm so sorry, Vegeta," she said, stifling her laughter.

"Just get away," he said, covering his manhood with both hands.

The sight, the heat, and the situation were just too much. Bulma had to drop to the floor and relish in the joy of free laughter. And for once it wasn't on her part.

Vegeta narrowed his eyes at her. "Oh yes, laugh it up, while you still can."

A tear ran down her face, and she wiped it away, before getting back to her feet.

The sun was bright, she noticed, as she felt it burning her pale skin. A surge of panic washed through her at the thought of Trunks wondering where his mother had gone.

She turned round and leaned into the jet to check the time.

As she did so, Vegeta watched her carefully. Why did she have to stick her arse in the air like that? He looked down at his sore crotch, noting that it was very determined to remain standing. Damn that woman. She wasn't helping his situation. Forcefully, he tore his eyes away from her behind, and instead, watched the ripple of the heat waves in the distance. Not only was this place remembered by one embarrassing moment in his life, it was now home to another.

A small drop of sweat was irritating him, as it travelled down his neck and under his shirt. Against his will, his eyes edged back to the sight of Bulma's backside, and he sighed. What was the point?

Bulma turned round and sighed also. "Oh, man … Guess we're not using this to get home," she said, thumbing the jet. "The battery is dead. We must have left a light on or something …"

"Don't get any ideas, woman," Vegeta said, alarmed by the look in her eyes. "You're going to have to find your own way back." No way was he flying her back when he was in this … predicament.

"What?" Bulma took a few steps towards him. "No. You can take me back. I really need to get back to Trunks. He probably won't even know who I am anymore."

There was a look of despair in her eyes that Vegeta couldn't ignore. But, still, he wasn't going near her when he was like this.

He shook his head. "Woman, I am not going to carry you when—"

"Oh …" Bulma grinned and tapped her nose. Then she slumped to the floor. "Well, we can't sit out here for however long _that _is going to take …"

Vegeta took a quick glance under his hand. Damn. Still there … "That's your problem," he said, managing a small smirk.

After sitting in the heat for a few minutes, several yards away from one another, Bulma decided she couldn't take it anymore. They were sitting around, when she could easily be flown home to see her son in a matter of minutes. The heat was definitely getting to her. Her mind was conjuring up ideas that she wished it wouldn't. And before she could stop herself, her thoughts came tumbling out of her mouth without warning.

"You know … there's a way we can get rid of that," she said, blushing and looking away from Vegeta as his mind processed what she was suggesting.

Oh, great. Why did she have to say that? Stupid, _stupid _Bulma. She was a grown woman, not a horny teenager! Vegeta would only reject her. She knew that better than anything. But it was so hot, and to be honest, she was feeling a little depraved lately. Where was a bottle of water when you needed it?

Vegeta recoiled in disgust, covering himself even more, if that was possible. "Don't be so vile! I'm not going to be the father of _another _half breed." Somehow, that being his only concern worried him. Why not the fact that he was to stay away from her completely? Don't get him wrong, he would love nothing more than to throw her into the jet and have his way with her, but what would the past months, of restraining himself, have been for?

"Just a suggestion," Bulma said under her breath, folding her arms.

"Keep your suggestions to yourself," Vegeta spat. It was the best way to keep her away from him.

Oh, but Bulma wasn't going to give up that easily. If Vegeta wanted a fight, then that was what he'd get. Slowly, she unbuttoned her shirt, and fanned herself with her hand. "It's too hot out here," she said, flashing a lascivious smirk when she caught Vegeta staring, agog.

"Will you stop whining …" He turned away from her. What had she become? A monster, that's what. Had he done that to her? Was it his influence that had turned her into a demon?

A layer of sweat thickened on his top lip, and he licked it off, wincing from the horrible, salty taste. It was a living hell. He'd seen what hell was like. Only for a bit. But this was far worse. His crotch was still aching, and now he didn't know whether it was pain or lust, and he was sweating from head to toe. It was like he'd rapidly caught a deadly fever. And it was all … because … of _her. _

That was it.

He stood up, ignoring his dignity, and marched towards the jet.

Bulma quickly scrambled to her feet and chased after him. "Hey, where are you going?" She stood in front of him. Where ever he was going, he wasn't leaving her.

Keeping his eyes trained on the sky, and not on her chest, Vegeta squinted. "We came from this direction," he said, pointing ahead of himself. "That's the direction I'm going back in."

Bulma gasped. "You can't just leave me here." Spreading her arms out, she foolishly attempted to barricade Vegeta's way.

He tried desperately hard not to throw his head back and laugh.

After sitting around for fifteen minutes, mulling over their time together, Bulma concluded that she had the right to feel extremely pissed off with Vegeta. After spending a night together, comfortably, she thought there was a little bit more between them than she'd originally suspected. Ok, maybe blatantly asking Vegeta for sex was a bit much, but she kind of felt like it was a reasonable thing to think.

A vulture circled over-head, and Bulma felt her back straighten. "If you leave me here, Vegeta, you'll suffer the consequences," she said, gravely.

The corners of his mouth twitched. "Move aside."

"No. Take me home," she said sharply, raising her voice without meaning to. Now feelings of anger and rage were starting to creep over her, and she couldn't stop it. She wouldn't stop it. Why wouldn't he show his feelings for her? Just something small. She didn't ask for much.

"I don't care about _that_." She pointed down to his crotch. "Really, I'm cool with it."

"I'm not, now step aside," he said, still avoiding eye contact with her. If he looked at her … well … he didn't know exactly what would happen.

Bulma's head began to throb again. She hadn't taken her medication. It should have been taken an hour ago …

Still stood with her hands out, she sighed. "What's to worry about? It's not like I haven't seen it all before."

He couldn't help it that time. He had to look at her, to see if she was being serious. Her blue eyes were burning in to his. Oh God … she was serious.

He stepped back. "Gah. Why do you have to be so vile?"

Bulma groaned and dropped her arms to her side. It was like talking to a baby. Couldn't he see between the lines? Or was he seriously playing stupid? "There's nothing vile about it! When two people like each other … that's kind of what they do."

Galvanised, Vegeta couldn't find any more words. What did she expect him to say to _that_? It was a trap. He was sure of it. Best thing to do was stay quiet. What was she getting at, anyway? Could she read into his thoughts? Did she know that he was becoming fond of her?

Bulma's eyes widened and she scoffed. "Oh my God. Look! You can't even deny it!"

"Deny what?" Vegeta said, feeling the sweat scraping down his back.

"Just do something about it, Vegeta," she said, walking right up to his face. "I'm standing right here."

The sweat on her skin was prickling his nose. There was a single drop, trailing down her chest and between her breasts. He gulped, as their eyes met.

"I'm tired of this, Vegeta," she muttered, moving closer, so that her chest met his. Suddenly she felt more nervous than ever. And the damp on her skin had turned icy cold.

Vegeta exhaled heavily. He could fly away. Just vanish into the sky and leave her there. That wouldn't be too hard. And once he was up there, he wouldn't think twice about flying back down to get her. But, then again … she was right … He was tired of it as well … Tired of fighting …

He placed his hands either side of her forearms, and worked his way up to her shoulders.

Bulma's heart raced in her chest, allowing the hunger to overtake her rationality. She closed her eyes, and sighed happily. But when she felt herself being pushed gently to the side, her eyes snapped open to see Vegeta frowning at her.

"I'll see to the boy, then come back for you," he said, not a flicker of emotion in his voice.

Before Bulma could say anything, he set off at a lightning speed into the sky.

"Wait!" she screamed, frivolously running after him. "I'm going to kill you, Vegeta …"

* * *

><p>How humiliating! He left her. When she was open, ready for the taking. He <em>left <em>her. And now she was stuck, burning in one hundred degree heat, for God knew how long.

A current of rage blew out of her and she screamed into the open air, "Hey, everybody, Vegeta is flying around with a _huge _erection." And she picked up a large stone, and chucked it into the air, watching as it practically floated back to the ground a few yards away.

Discovering that her anger hadn't subsided and only worsened, Bulma hit the floor and huffed. What the _hell _was she supposed to do now?

* * *

><p><strong>AN - The thought of Piccolo and Dende, sitting on top of Kami's lookout, and overhearing Bulma's rant, tickled me a bit, so I had to use it ;D**

Let me know what you think of this chapter and the story so far, by leaving a little review. I'd appreciate it a lot. Thanking you ^.^


	8. Like a puzzle

A/N - Ok, so, to avoid any confusion, I'm just gonna come out with it. I posted a chapter eight quite hastily, and let's face it, it was a heaping pile of cow shit. I'm kind of trying to balance out this work with uni work and work work, so everything a bit of blarghhhh at the moment. Nevertheless, I sat down and planned out a coherent few chapters, which should satisfy you guys. Hopefully. This chapter may seem shorter than the last ones, but that's because my writing style has changed, and I used to drawwwwl on about every, single , little detail. It's a bad thing to do. So this is more to the point. I've taken into account what some of you guys have said. Hopefully it shows, but if not, TOUGH. Nah, it should be all right.

Anyway - Enjoy

* * *

><p><span>Igniting the Fire<span>

Chapter Eight

For a portrait made out of rubble and dried leaves, it looked almost uncanny. There was the lack of smile; she'd got that spot on. The widows peak was a given, and truthfully, it was the easiest part to do. She decided not to give him eyes, though, because then, he'd almost look human. Because that's what Saiyans almost look like, isn't it? Human. But they're not, you see. In fact, apart from Goku, Bulma couldn't say she'd ever met a Saiyan who was remotely human-like. Every one of them came with some sort of terrible characteristic. Like the seven dwarfs. No guessing as to which one Vegeta was …

The smallest amount of time spent, in the desert, when you're suffering with the beginnings of a migraine, can seem like endless torture. That's why she'd resorted into making the lovely stone sculpture of the man who'd left her there, alone; anything to take her mind off the thump, thump, thumping in her head. She thought that, maybe, if she just sat it out, doing something that required very little effort, then the pain would naturally subside. But God knew how much time had passed, and it felt exactly the same, gathering around her eyes and pressing against her temple. Plus, just creating anything that looked like Vegeta was making her angry, and the more aggression building in her head, the more stressed she got, and the migraine would thrive off it, absorbing it, becoming stronger.

Sitting amongst the dirt, staring at the disfigured face of an egotistic-asshole, under-at least-one hundred degree heat, Bulma had had enough. She flung her foot out with what little energy she had left, and kicked the stone face, again and again, and the rocks flew and 'pinged' the jet, narrowly missing her head. She didn't care. The pain needed to go away, so she could even contemplate getting back to see her son. Obviously, she would kill Vegeta first. How could he leave her out here? How? This time there was no forgiving him. He knew she wasn't well. He knew it. And yet he took his selfish-self home and left her, possibly to die. She didn't know.

The sun light bleached Bulma's hands as she held them out, palms up, on her lap. Her skin was already pale, but now it was glowing white. She had to squint with the light being too strong for her sensitive eyes. But she had to stay awake for when Vegeta returned-If he returned. Because of wanting to kill him, and all. Only a small problem: How can a human, with such little power in comparison, find the upper hand when inflicting any sort of pain? She'd work something out. She was a genius, after all.

Squinting at her palms, feeling the heat burning her delicate skin, Bulma tried to free her mind, which was increasingly difficult when there was a small circle of vultures hovering over-head. Each shadow drifted over her, making her feel incredibly self-conscious. Not for the fact that they could eat her, but because they were expecting her to die.

Then a huge shadow covered her hands, her lap, and her head, kicking bits of gravel on to her feet. At first, she thought the mother of all vultures had come down because it was fed up waiting, but when she stood up, a bit too quickly, and took a real look, she saw the vague outline of a face she hated. A face she wanted to destroy. Vegeta.

Without thinking deeply into the plan, Bulma scrambled backwards, hitting the floor, and gathered up a handful of reasonable-sized stones, which she threw with very little co-ordination, but aiming to kill. All the while her head throbbed, and her vision almost depleted into blindness.

Vegeta stared and didn't move a muscle as the rocks flew past him, a few grazing his arms. What the hell was wrong with this woman? He'd come back for her, like he'd promised, and yet she was attacking him. Thirty Earth minutes he'd been gone, had a shower, tended to the boy, and flew back to get her. You would have thought he'd have left her there for hours.

"What the-" he said, as he dodged a flying stone.

She didn't look good, at all. Her hair was saturated with sweat, her face was disturbingly white, and her eyes had dark, grey bags hanging underneath them. Before he left, she looked as if she was falling ill again, and now, well, she'd been hit badly with sickness. That awful wave of nausea swept over him at the thought of his selfishness again. While tending to his … problem, Bulma was sat out here roasting away like a chicken in an oven.

The sweat was pouring off her, as she bent down to pick up more ammo. The heat had clearly messed with her mind if she thought there was a shred-of-a-chance of actually hitting him. As amusing as it should have been, Vegeta didn't want her to carry on. He wanted her to calm down before something terrible happened, but he couldn't speak. A part of him wanted to allow her to hurt him physically, draw blood. So instead evading her attacks, he stepped forward, right into the line of fire, and waited for the inevitable.

"How … could … you," Bulma said, launching stone after stone, feeling the throbbing in her head take over her entire body. She didn't care that she was blindly throwing stuff at him. "You … jerk … ass hole …"

A single stone struck, smacking Vegeta right between the eyes. A tiny dribble of blood crawled down his face. It didn't hurt, whatsoever, but there was a slight sense of relief at the reality of her hitting him. That sense of relief soon diminished when he saw Bulma wobble. He knew what was going to happen, and he should have just let it happen, but as Bulma's eyes rolled to the back of her head, and her knees buckled, instinct took over, Vegeta caught her before she collapsed, like a boneless creature, to the ground.

* * *

><p>What was he to do with her exactly? He didn't really think it through. She was lying in his arms, like a wounded animal, as he flew around, searching for some place decent to stop. He would have taken her home, but by the look of her, she needed attention fast. Just as he thought of turning back to Capsule Corp, he spotted a small opening in some trees, and beneath that, there was a stream of fresh water.<p>

They landed and he lay her down on the mossy grass, begrudgingly, hoping that they were definitely alone, because this was between him and Bulma. As she lay on the floor, he looked at her properly. Her hair, her face, her body. She looked God-awful, but for he knew it now-he was fond of her … somewhat. It didn't matter. What did matter was getting her back to a suitable energy level. So he dipped his hand into his jeans pocket, pulling out a small box of medication, and tore a couple of tablets free from their foil containment.

Knowing that she was falling ill, he took the liberty of bringing Bulma's medicine, but if he'd known she was going to be as bad as she was, he would have taken her home no matter what condition he was in. He hated to admit it, but what was the point in fighting anymore? A mistake had been made. That was clear enough. Just another thing to add to his list of regrets.

As he carried Bulma close to the stream, he reflected on their night together, and it was the first night in a long time, where he didn't suffer from soul eating nightmares. As hot as it was, he slept soundly. Was it something to do with this woman? He didn't know. But something about her calmed him, took to a place of serenity, somewhere new.

Instead of smacking her awake, he shook her until her eyes fluttered open, dazed and lazy-looking. The sight of her eyes, a crystal shade of blue, like the sky reflecting into the ocean, caught his breath for a moment, but he needed to concentrate, telling her to take the tablets in her mouth, while he cupped a handful of water.

Good thing she was out of it, otherwise she wouldn't let him hear the last of it.

The gentle sound of water slapping against—what sounded like—rocks, roused Bulma from a very strange and vivid dream. She was in Vegeta's arms, while he dabbed her head with a cold compress and gave her medicine. It must have been a dream because when she opened her eyes to see the cloudless sky above her, she felt the agonising truth creep up on her. Thinking for a split second that she was back in the desert where she started, Bulma groaned and waited for the throb of the migraine to rear its ugly head again. Instead, the soft whooshing of a river beckoned her to sit up, and what she saw made her assume that, as well as losing her migraine, she'd lost her mind along with it.

No, she was in some kind of haven. Maybe she'd died and this was what Other World looked like. The clothes she was wearing were atrocious, though, wet and clinging to her skin. Jeez, even when you die you have to keep the nasty clothes you died in? No thanks.

There were a few trees scattered around the area, a stream embedded between them, full of glorious fresh water. It didn't take long for her to get up and sit by the side of the stream, cupping handfuls of water and throwing it in her face. It felt too good to be true. There was no pain in her head anymore, and the heat wasn't as intense wherever she was. Relief was an understatement.

How did she get here, though, if she wasn't dead? Again, she swung around to check her surroundings and her eyes locked on to a very unusual sight—Vegeta, sitting under a tree, watching her, his deep black eyes keeping her rooted to the spot. Just the sight of him made her feel angry again.

She folded her arms and turned away from him. Whether it was a dream or not, whether he had rescued her or whatever he did, she didn't care. He didn't deserve her gratitude, because he shouldn't have left her there in the first place.

"Where are we?" she demanded, with her back to him.

Vegeta frowned. How dare she talk to him in such a manner, after what he did. She obviously didn't know, the idiot woman. Regardless of how fond of her he had become, he would not be spoken to like shit. He paced over, arms crossed and ears steaming, and reaching her side, threw the packet of medication in her lap.

"What does it matter?" he said.

Bulma jumped as the box landed on her tattered skirt, and then briefly looked at it. She knew what they were. It only confirmed what she thought wasn't true. Vegeta had gone out of his way to help her. Unfortunately, her heart couldn't help but warm … a lot. Nevertheless, he still didn't deserve anything from her. Even though she wanted to thank him, she wouldn't. Besides, Vegeta couldn't handle any form of gratitude anyway, so it was fine.

"Took your time," she mumbled, shaking the box for emphasis.

Vegeta huffed and walked away. "Next time I won't come back for you then. Maybe you would enjoy roasting in the sun for a bit longer." That ungrateful wench.

Bulma jumped to her feet. "Whatever … Take me home."

"Fine," he said, resigned. She clearly wasn't her usual mood. In fact, she was acting odd.

Without looking at him, she jumped into his arms and said, "Sort your little problem out, then?"

"Fsh. Do me a favour and be quiet."

"No. I think we should talk about what happened back there, and what gave you the right to leave me in the fucking desert!"

Vegeta winced, and felt the need to drop her and leave her again, but the … what was the word … _guilt_that he felt the first time … he couldn't feel that again. Ever. "Woman, do not get riled up again. I won't aid you a second time."

"Oh no," Bulma said, throwing her hands in the air and nearly knocking Vegeta in the face. "Even a single act of goodness is way over your limitation. God forbid I nearly die again." She huffed and crossed her arms.

"Believe me, I won't."

"Take me home. I need to see _our_son. Remember him?"

Vegeta peeked at her for a second, making sure she wasn't becoming all disgusting and sweaty again. "Yes, I do. He's fine. He's been fed and now he's sleeping."

Bulma's heart stopped for a moment. "Yeah, thanks to my mom, I bet."

"No."

"My dad, then."

"No."

"Chichi?"

"For God's sake, Bulma. I took care of the boy!" he said, and took off into the sky, holding her tightly.

As the wind whipped through her hair, that warm sensation in her heart made itself present again. It was beginning to feel a bit overwhelming, like she could actually forgive Vegeta. But no, she would stand her ground. In a way, he was like a child and had to learn some way. There was still a lot of hate for him. It was really annoying. When she wanted to hate him, he was actually making a bit of effort.

A few dizzy minutes later, they landed on the balcony outside Bulma's bedroom, where Vegeta allowed her to slip out of his arms and land softly on the tiled floor.

A quick, subtle 'thank you' would be enough, and then she'd leave him to do whatever the hell he wanted to do with his life. She didn't want to give him her time anymore. But as she turned round to say it, she became hugely distracted by a huge cut on his forehead. Maybe she shouldn't have been so stubborn and looked at him a bit earlier, 'cause it looked terrible.

What she did in the desert was a blur, but she could vaguely remember throwing a couple rocks. She gasped a little. "Did I …?" she said, gesturing to the wound on his head.

Vegeta frowned and felt out where she was pointing to, the rough texture of dry, crumbling blood on his fingers being all too familiar.

"Did I do that?" she said again, trying to sound nonchalant about the whole thing. It was way easier the second time.

He shrugged and looked past her. "Only because I allowed it to happen." What was the point in lying? It wasn't like she could have actually hit him. Ha! That would be the day.

Bulma shifted on the spot as the late afternoon sun stroked her skin. She felt quite pleased with herself. Attacking a Saiyan. Which human could say that and still live to tell the story? And that is without being brought back by the dragon balls as well.

"As if. I got you fair and square. Pretty good shot, huh?" She grinned.

"No," he affirmed, and swung a leg over the balcony railings, ready to take off again.

Bulma couldn't help that automatic feel of bereft at the sight of him leaving. But she didn't care anymore, did she? Nope. "Well, I'm not sorry."

He laughed. "I don't care for your apologies, either way."

She gawped. "Well, that's right, 'cause you deserved it, you jerk … No, actually, you deserve a lot worse than a measly stone to the head, buddy."

Vegeta narrowed his eyes. Every word she said was true, but he couldn't accept that truth when it came from her. "I know what I do and don't deserve." And they stopped spitting venom at each other; rather, they just stood for a few seconds, allowing the weight of his words to rest on her shoulders.

He didn't deserve anyone as good as Bulma.

Bulma folded her arms as the sweat cooled on her skin, freezing her to the bone. All this thinking was getting to her head again. And whatever Vegeta was thinking was too complex to even attack with a tooth pick.

She was too tired.

"I'm going in now," she said, watching, as within a split second later, he was away, leaving that beautiful, electric blue trail behind him.

* * *

><p>Trunks was in a bad mood, throwing toys and wooden blocks, chewing his teddies with his new teeth, and pulling out all the stuffing, scattering it across the floor. Bulma tried to calm him down, singing to him—terrible idea—and putting one of his favourite channels on, but nothing could stop him. It was weird. It was like he was disinterested in all the things he used to love. Surely over the course of a couple days, he hadn't grown out of them?<p>

She sat there staring at him chew the ear off of Tinky Winky, and she knew exactly what it was. Of course, Trunks was no usual baby. It was his inner Saiyan, surfacing extremely early.

"Trunks, stop that!" she said, lunging forward to catch the weird aerial-looking-thing from Tinky Winkie's head before Trunks launched it somewhere.

Catching these things was important, otherwise they'd just go missing, only to wind up somewhere unexpected the next day. The other week, Bunny screamed the house down when she found Barney's head under one of the couch cushions.

Taking the piece of cuddly toy away from Trunks wasn't a good idea. As soon as she did it, feeling that moment of triumph when you think you've won the battle, Trunks fell silent and gave her the most heart-wrenching look, and then the inevitable happened: He bawled and bawled, throwing everything and anything he could find.

Jeez, this was becoming a long day, Bulma thought as she took her son into her arms, careful to dodge the flailing limbs. "Fine, fine, we'll get you some food … Why so cranky today, huh?"

Several minutes later, a wasted jar of baby food (peaches and cream), Bulma wasn't getting any further with her cranky child. It was beginning to make her angry, too, and she really didn't want to be angry with Trunks, especially when she didn't know what the hell was wrong with him.

Her newly cleansed hair was becoming sweaty again with all the running around, and her fresh clothes were covered in all sorts a gunk.

"Trunks, mommy is getting really irritated," she mumbled as she routed through the cupboards for something to tickle his taste buds, and something he wouldn't launch across the room.

When the crying suddenly switched into laughter, Bulma spun round, perplexed, with a bowl in one hand and a blender in the other. Vegeta had strolled into the room, dressed the same as he was when he came back for her earlier, but his clothes were now filthy with soil. What the hell has he been up to? Like she cared …

That wasn't the point.

The glee on Trunks' face when he saw Vegeta enter the room was unmistakable. Bulma frowned. She actually felt jealous, and kind of stupid. All the time she'd been trying to solve the problem, and Vegeta was the solution.

He was making it really hard to hate him.

Trunks continued to clap his hands, his eyes following Vegeta as he ventured to the fridge, swung the door open and routed around.

Just for an experiment, Bulma went back into the cupboard for a new jar of baby food.

Vegeta was pretty hungry. He tried to steer away from the kitchen and Bulma, but even after scouring some wasteland and Greenland, it was evident that there was very little available to hunt. There were a few deer and dinosaur, but their meat wasn't as tasteful as the meatloaf the older woman could make.

The boy was babbling something to him, but he didn't have the time or patience to deal with him. Bulma was taking care of him, and that was fine.

Trunks couldn't seem to understand why his father was ignoring him. No matter how much he shouted, or laughed, Vegeta wouldn't pay any attention. He looked to Bulma for some reassurance but she was busy as well. He was left with no choice but to escape from the uncomfortable highchair he'd been left in.

With a determined frown on his face, he struggled his way out of the buckles on the chair, and clambered across the attachable, plastic table, which adjoined the kitchen work tops, which then lead to the fridge. Crawling wasn't getting him anywhere, so, carefully balanced, he stood up and wobbled his way over to Vegeta.

Bulma nearly dropped the jar of food when she turned round to witness the horror of her son, toppling over the edge of the work surface. It was like it was happening in slow motion, and she was paralysed. Like in a horrible, horrible nightmare.

"Oh my God, Trunks!" she wailed, shoving the jar on the table and running to save him.

It was too late. His legs buckled and he was falling. He was going to die, and it was all her fault.

There was no crash, though. No sound of her baby crying. Oh God. He'd died and evaporated into the ground. She couldn't bear to think about it anymore.

The next thing she saw almost rendered her speechless. Vegeta stood up from behind the kitchen top, holding Trunks up by his diaper, looking at him with serious distaste, all the while Trunks burst into a fit of laughter, clapping his hands in sheer joy.

Bulma let out a small scream, a scream of unexpected delight, when she saw Trunks alive, and smiling. All thanks to Vegeta.

Without thinking, she ran over to them, yanked Trunks from Vegeta's grasp and cooed into his ear.

"Oh, Trunks. My Trunks, my baby, you're all right," and then she frowned. "Don't you ever do that again, you hear me?"

Trunks looked bewildered for a moment, and then mirrored Bulma's expression. She couldn't help but laugh. A child so young pulling such a face was pretty funny, she had to admit.

Saying thank you to Vegeta was on her mind, yes, but she just couldn't. It's like the words were stuck in her throat. Every time she thought of giving him her appreciation, she flicked back to him leaving her in that desert; accompanied by all the other times he'd spoken to or treated her like crap. It had only been a day, and he was making remarkable progress, even by just doing the simplest of things … including saving their son from an untimely death.

She fixed Trunks firmly back into his highchair, before getting the jar of food and attempting to feed him again. Vegeta slammed the fridge door, making her jump, and had held of three plates, piled with different meat, some casserole from a couple nights ago, and lemon pie, which Bulma had had her eyes on all day.

Instead of taking them elsewhere, he decided to eat right under their noses, antagonising Trunks who was not happy with his food in comparison. Spitting it out, and barely attempting to open his mouth when Bulma tried to spoon feed him, Trunks began to whimper again, his eyes fixed on Vegeta.

Bulma cracked her neck out of irritation. She would not let this get to her. He son would learn to eat what was good for him and nothing else. She dug the spoon, deep into the jar of food and lifted out a mountain of splodge, pea green, mush and smiled encouragingly at Trunks, who continued to pout.

Urgh, forget it, she thought, and ate the food herself.

"You try," she said, a mouth full of food, wielding a spoon towards Vegeta.

"What?" he said, barely able to take his eyes off of his food. Mainly, he was going to pretend he didn't hear what she just said.

She swallowed. "Please. Try feeding this to Trunks." She pushed the spoon and jar across the table, towards Vegeta.

His eyes went from the jar, to Bulma, to Trunks, to his food, and back to Bulma again.

"No chance," he said, and gulped a huge chunk of chicken casserole.

Right on cue, Trunks sniffled, before breaking out into a quiet sob, his nose dripping with mucus.

Crocodile tears, Vegeta thought as he sneered at the boy.

"He seems to want you, Vegeta," Bulma said behind gritted teeth.

Vegeta swallowed his food. "Well, he has to learn otherwise."

Bulma laughed. "Oh, that's rich coming from you," then mentally berated herself for letting her anger show again. Calm and collected. Calm and collected. That's what she was.

Trunks' sobs grew louder and louder until Vegeta grimaced. The child had definitely inherited those lungs from his mother that was for sure. She wasn't seriously expecting him to feed him, was she? He'd ignore her. Maybe she'd take the kid to another room or something, because he couldn't be bothered moving. Couldn't she see he was busy eating?

Bulma sighed. "Vegeta. Do it."

He looked up from his food, frowning, and stared at Bulma, feeling her energy level rising slowly. He couldn't allow her to fall ill again. So he exhaled through his nostrils and slammed his fork down on the table, before picking up the spoon and jar of food with a little more force than necessary.

Automatically, Bulma stood back and watched in awe, as Vegeta became a dad to their son. Well, something like that. It was a big step, anyway.

As he dug out some of the food, he couldn't help but examine what the hell it was. It was some sort of slop, the sort of slop they wouldn't even feed the slaves on Frieza's ship. And she was giving this to his son? The son of a prince-eating slave food? It was disgraceful.

He turned his nose up at it and looked at Trunks, who was wide eyed and curious at his father's behaviour. At least the crying had stopped.

Reluctantly, Vegeta gave Trunks the 'food', which the boy took gladly, licking his lips after and grasping his hands for more. He had the blood of a Saiyan all right. As annoying and humiliating as it initially seemed, Vegeta wasn't finding the whole ordeal too stressful. He wouldn't do it again, though. That woman may as well take a picture, so she could treasure the moment in one of those sentimental photo album things. Some kind of human, emotional shit.

Bulma smiled as she looked on at her son and … Vegeta. Well, what else could she call him? He certainly wasn't her friend, but she was finding it dangerously difficult to stay cold with him. He was finally changing. What had made him change? And could she forgive him?

* * *

><p>After putting Trunks to bed, Bulma resigned for the night-even though it was only nine thirty-and lay there wide awake on her bed. Something was keeping her awake, no matter how tired she felt. How could she feel so guilty about giving someone what they deserved? It was pathetic.<p>

When Trunks finished an entire four jars of food, Vegeta got up, left his food and went to his room. It was as if he realised he'd done something productive and had to revert in order to feel like himself again. Weird but expected.

Bulma blinked at the blank ceiling, looking back on the night they shared together. That was the thing; she couldn't stop thinking about it. It wasn't like anything romantic had happened between them. It was better than that. She wanted that again.

She was angry with Vegeta, no doubt, but it didin't defeat the fact that she loved him.

She _loved _him.

It felt strange admitting it to herself because you'd think Vegeta would be impossible to love. Yet she fell for him so quickly.

To treat her the way he did, though …

Bulma grabbed a pillow and screamed into it. What was she to do? What was the point in even contemplating any other option? She knew she was going to get up and go wandering around for him.

A restless hour later, she was standing in the arch of his door, between the light of the hallway and the blue darkness of his room. There he was, sitting up against the head board, arms folded, eyes closed, face relaxed. It was annoyingly comforting to see him like that.

What would be the point in disturbing him when he was getting the rest he needed? She'd made a mistake , she thought as she went to turn away, but was stopped by an authoritative tone.

"What do you want, woman?" he said, his dark eyes open, the light of the hallway bouncing off his pupils.

God, was he even asleep? she thought, as she composed herself.

Bulma fidgeted on the spot, like a nervous dog, not knowing what to do next. She had it all planned out, but somehow that plan had been abandoned, away with her dignity.

Vegeta had to stop her. Resting his eyes was fine, but he couldn't allow himself to sleep. The nightmares would return, more violent than the last. If his theory was correct, then Bulma was the reason he could sleep well. If not, she'd be of no use. That's what he liked to believe, anyway.

Bulma sighed, leaned against the door frame. Now was the time to bite the bullet. "I guess I owe you some sort of thanks …"

"I don't want to hear it."

"I know, but I'm going to say it anyway, 'cause I'll feel better after, ok?"

He stared at her through the darkness, admiring her determination every time he saw her, and the fact that she was wearing such a snugly fitted night dress.

"So … um … thanks for bringing me my medication, and for looking after Trunks, I guess," she said, even though it could have all been avoided.

She also wanted to apologise for her behaviour before he left her in the desert. She knew that he couldn't handle human emotions, and she practically ambushed him. Maybe, in a way, it was a good thing he left her. Urgh, she didn't want to sway towards it being her fault. No, it definitely wasn't.

Vegeta looked away. He didn't know how to deal with people actually thanking him for anything, especially when it was his own fault to begin with. Never would he admit to that, but he didn't enjoy someone else feeling the need to take the blame.

"I enjoyed our time together last night, before …y'know," Bulma said, rubbing her bare arms, looking at the floor.

Vegeta frowned. "I don't want to be reminded."

"It was pretty funny before you left me out there," she said, blushing like crazy at the thought of Vegeta's morning glory.

The thought, for some reason, provoked a small smirk from Vegeta, but it was quickly replaced by a firm frown. He half was too busy wondering why she wouldn't just come in already. Why did she think he left his door open? He never leaves his door open.

Wasn't she supposed to be the a human genius?

There they were again, amidst a comfortable yet awkward silence. Everything fitted, yet there were still pieces missing. There was some kind of unspoken relationship, which Bulma was beginning to see. Maybe she was trying too hard. Maybe not. She could just walk away, but she didn't want to, and it wasn't like Vegeta was telling her to go, either, was it?

From within the empty space in his room, Vegeta sighed a loud sigh.

Bulma clucked her tongue and stared at the ceiling, seeing the faint cracks in the plaster. She made a mental note to get someone in to fix it-

"Woman, either stay here or go away. I'm not going to sit here and watch you dawdle at the ceiling."

Bulma scowled. "Don't speak to me like that, jerk." But as the words slid out of her mouth, she absentmindedly stepped in and closed the door.

This time something was different. They both knew it. Bulma was tired, and had no intention of bombarding Vegeta with how she felt, so when she lay down on his bed, her back pressing against his, and closed her eyes, it didn't take long for her to drift into the most comfortable, dreamless sleep she'd ever had.

Not long after hearing her breathing become heavy and steady, he, too, slipped into unconsciousness. With Bulma playing on his mind the entire time.

* * *

><p>AN - Yes/No? Let me know! (Whey, that rhymed)

**Chapter Nine - Sunday - 30th December. Seriously sorry about the delay, kids. Busy, busy, busy!  
><strong>


	9. Mind Boggled

A/N - Hi! You might remember me, maybe not ... but I'm back for good this time.

I've decided to take a different approach to this chapter, meaning I'm writing it only a tad different from before. Rather than write quite lengthy scenes, I've gone with writing short, snippets from the characters pov. That way, I can get more story in there, and more to the point, without it being rushed or haphazardly done.

It might seem a bit weird at first, but you'll get used to it!

I hope you enjoy :)

* * *

><p><span>Igniting the Fire<span>

Chapter Nine

To the left of him, the gentle, warm sunlight stroked his skin, but to the right, there was an unforgiving coldness in the air. To say he had a happy medium, or an appropriate body temperature for this time of year, would be far from correct. The point of it all was, on his right side, he had (unwillingly) accepted the company of a certain blue-haired wench, who also happened to be the mother of his child, on the condition that she didn't touch, talk, or disturb him in any way at all. Or she'd die. Well, that's what he said to her. He'd never tell her the truth. What was the truth, though?

That thought was irrelevant. Things were running smoothly. It had been a week since their tiny arrangement and he hadn't had a single nightmare since. In fact, he was sleeping in, waking up naturally at half eight every morning.

This was where the problem lay. Vegeta was a clever guy, so when noticed Bulma coming to bed with him at night, it was only going to be obvious when he woke up the next morning on his _own_. Every day. For a week. She had been sneaking back to her own room, like some kind of low budget harlot, trying not to get caught. It was a quick jab to the remaining pride he had left. There wasn't much more to spare. But it wasn't the situation that annoyed him the most, no. It was the fact that he was letting it annoy him, letting her get under his skin and tinker away with his … Oh, he couldn't even think such a thing. He had plenty of important things to do with his time than worry about her.

The sheets beside him were still crumpled, and there was a small dip in the pillow where her head had been. He blasted it, quickly and effectively, and watched on as the small clumps of wool and feathers floated aimlessly to the floor. She could use her own damn pillow, seeing as she loved it so much.

Vegeta closed his eyes for a moment - the woman and his son were quite a distance away. Well, for a human. About ten miles. God knows what they were doing. At least they were out of his hair while he trained.

The wardrobe he had had full length mirrors on the doors. He hated them. He had a right mind to blast them along with the damn pillow, but he didn't, because he found himself distracted by his own reflection for a minute. Never had he stood there and studied his own self for more than a fraction of a second. Now, he couldn't take his eyes away. He looked … unwell, despite feeling perfectly fine. No wonder the woman was always asking him is he was 'OK'.

He tentatively traced the scars on his forearms, the scars he acquired from one of cells demented offspring. As he did so, like a video clip, the moment played in his mind. He frowned and swung the wardrobe doors open. He had training to do.

* * *

><p>In West City Park, Bulma and Chichi enjoyed the weather as they sat on the grass, watching Gohan show Trunks how to feed the ducks nicely, rather than launch an entire loaf of bread at them. The duck survived, but it was a close call and a severe telling off.<p>

Bulma pulled the hem of her skirt with one hand while holding a half-eaten bagel in the other, and she turned to Chichi with a mouthful of food. "There's this … great store … that sells some really … cute maternity stuff." She swallowed. "That's where I got my clothes when I was pregnant with Trunks,' she said matter-of-factly, while wiping her mouth with a napkin.

Chichi groaned, and sat up straight, watching Gohan in the distance as she spoke. "I don't see why I can't use the clothes I already have." She hated shopping.

Bulma's eyes bulged slightly, as if her friend had just said she didn't believe in Kami. "Obviously because those clothes are gross." She loved Chichi, but her sense of style was hit and miss. Mainly because she wore the same thing every time she saw her. It wasn't that she didn't have much money, she just had twenty of the same outfit. She was hoping it would lift Chichi's mood a bit.

"I just—"

"Look, Chichi, it's on me, so don't sweat it."

Chichi frowned. "I am not a charity case, Bulma," and folded her arms.

"I know. I want to get you something anyway."

Chichi looked down at herself. "I don't need maternity clothes yet, anyway."

"No harm in planning ahead!"

Chichi resigned. There was no use in trying to sway Bulma from buying clothes. She liked that about her friend, though. She wouldn't ever change that.

They sat quiet again, watching Trunks chasing a bee. Every time he got within arm's reach, Gohan stopped him by pulling on his Capsule Corp t-shirt.

Bulma smiled at the two of them and waved them over, just as a shadow crept over her.

"Hey, guys. Didn't expect to see you here," Yamcha said as he stood with open arms, which Bulma definitely did not want to walk into.

Chichi stood up. "Yamcha, Bulma lives round the corner."

"Does she live in the park, though?" he said, and grinned.

Chichi stared at him blankly. She was sick to death of him, after hearing about how he was practically harassing Bulma all the time. Apparently they hadn't spoken since she threw him out of her house a week ago. That was a long time according to Bulma.

"What do you want, huh?" Bulma said, gathering her bag and cardigan from the floor.

"Nothing. Was just passing through, enjoying the sunshine, you know …" He turned around, using his hand to shield his eyes from the sun, even though he had sunglasses on.

He could be such a poser sometimes, Bulma thought when she finally stood up. "That's great. Well, me, Chichi and the boys are going shopping now, so—"

"Awh, mom, do I have to go?" Gohan said as he ran up beside his mother. He was getting taller.

"Yes, Gohan, you do." Chichi said firmly, wiping a couple blades of grass from Gohan's shirt.

Trunks came tumbling over on Bulma's feet, giggling away and covered in grass. She picked him up. "As I was saying—we have some boring old shopping to do, so I guess we'll see you around."

Gohan grumbled, and Trunks copied him.

Yamcha studied this. "Why don't I watch Gohan and Trunks while you do your thing?"

"No, we're fine, Yamcha," Chichi said, shaking her head at the look Bulma was giving her.

"I suppose you could …" Bulma said under her breath.

Gohan rejoiced at the thought of a 'shoppingless' afternoon. He was getting older, and after the battle with cell, he'd definitely proven that he didn't need to be around his mother all the time.

"Ok, yeah," Bulma decided on both her and Chichi's behalf. What was the harm, really?

"That reminds me," Yamcha said as Bulma handed Trunks over. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Before she completely let go of Trunks, she halted and narrowed her eyes at him. "Chichi can hear this as well," she said.

"But—" Yamcha uttered.

"I've told her everything, anyway," Bulma said in a darkened tone, narrowing her eyes even further. She nearly had them closed and didn't look threatening whatsoever. The sun was beginning to burn her skin.

"Oh, jeez." Yamcha's cheeks took on a crimson glow, and he dropped his arms to his sides.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," Chichi added, shaking her head.

"That's what I wanted to talk about." Yamcha put his hands in his pockets.

Bulma took a step back as she faked a yawn. "Boring. Heard this song so many times." Both women laughed.

"Krillin and Eighteen are in for the vacation," he said, and Bulma stopped laughing. "They really want you to come."

* * *

><p>Vegeta busied himself throughout the day, training, eating and training some more. Good thing the older wench was around today, otherwise the food would've been crap. She was always cooking, that woman. At first he thought she was simply being the provider for the family, but now he knew it was a disease.<p>

When he touched down after six hours in the desert, dirt encrusted shorts and red raw skin, he felt the presence of Bulma and Trunks. But instead of going in to see them, he sat on the lawn for a bit to think about his tactics. Was it even worth going in there? He didn't really have any need to go in there, anyway. His training was done. He'd eaten, and wasn't particularly hungry at that present moment. So what would he do?

Vegeta very rarely had little to do. He sat still, tearing the grass out from its roots, and stopped when he felt Bulma's energy meandering through the house. She was moving around pretty fast for a human woman. There was an air of importance in her stride.

Bulma stepped out the front door, clad in a white lab coat, holding a clip board, and beside her was a rather sheepish looking female in the same clothes. The other female had glasses on and shorter hair. Vegeta frowned when she caught sight of him.

They were walking towards him now.

"Who is that?" the young girl whispered to Bulma, pointing from behind a fluttering piece of paper.

Bulma looked over to Vegeta and rolled her eyes. "Oh, that's just Vegeta. He kinda hangs around occasionally. Don't worry, he won't bother you once you start working in the lab."

"Does he live here?" She was curling a short wisp of hair around her finger.

"Hmm. Yeah, he does." Bulma wasn't looking at the girl or Vegeta. She was busy jotting something down on her clipboard, a fine frown beginning to crease. She clicked the pen on her palm. "Right, Mercedes, it was great to finally meet you, and I'm sure you're super excited about the up-coming project."

Mercedes nodded quickly, but didn't look happy, more like a soldier being rallied.

Bulma stuck a hand out. "So, I'll see you ready to get to work in two weeks today," she said as the young girl grabbed her hand and shook it firmly a number of times.

"Yeah, of course." And she strode off, taking one last glance at Vegeta before she left the grounds.

Bulma watched on as the girl left, and she sighed, rubbing her chin. She hoped that having Vegeta around wouldn't cause a problem for that girl's work ethic. She was a bright girl and the main component for the new ideas towards the training facility. Without her, Bulma couldn't really pull it off. Mercedes had the potential to be an excellent scientist and partner. But at the end of it all, she was still a young woman.

When Bulma turned round, Vegeta was gone. She went inside to tidy the lab and shower before dinner.

After dinner, Bulma wandered round the house, following Trunks, who was feeling extra adventurous today. To be honest, she was exhausted. The shopping with Chichi went well, though. In total, they bought thirty new dresses. Bulma was sure that would see Chichi through her pregnancy. By the time they finished shopping, it was three in the afternoon and Bulma had a meeting with her new employee. She quickly met Yamcha, said thanks, said farewell to Chichi and rushed home just in time.

Bulma lifted Trunks from the floor, and braced herself for the flinging limbs. As she stopped, she saw the phone hanging on the wall, and thought about what Yamcha had said to her earlier. Despite him pissing her off, she really was looking forward to that vacation, with the idea that everyone else was going. Now that they were, she didn't really have a reason to say no. Plus, Yamcha was dating some girl called Veronica now. She was a bit older than him, only a couple years, so maybe she would be able to tame him.

Balancing Trunks on her hip, she picked the phone up and dialed Yamcha's number. She still knew it off by heart.

It rang once before he picked up …

"Hey, Yamcha, it's—"

"Hey, Bulma, how's it going?"

"Yeah, good. I've thought about it and I think this vacation would do me some good, y'know. A chance for a bit of relaxation." It would give her some space from Vegeta as well. She bit her lip.

"Awesome. Well, I hope you have all your stuff on standby, 'cause we fly out on Monday."

"As in this Monday coming?" Bulma cocked an eyebrow and Trunks laughed.

"A-huh."

"Jeez … "

"What's up, B?"

"No, nothing, it's fine. See you on Monday," and she put the phone down without waiting for a goodbye from Yamcha. She looked at Trunks and his big eyes glistened as he yawned. "Yeah, mommy is tired too."

A couple hours after putting Trunks to bed, Bulma was in her pyjamas, walking down the hall towards Vegeta's bedroom. The door was wide open, which was unusual, and an unwelcoming draft was blowing at her nightdress. She held the hem down and walked in the empty room to close the sliding doors.

The air dropped and the room went silent … and lonely.

An instant gut feeling of worry churned in her stomach. Where was he? She hadn't really seen him all day. Maybe it had gotten too much for him, her sleeping in his bed. She knew that would happen. That's why she was leaving him alone before he woke. She didn't want it to become a thing. It wasn't meant to be a thing. It wasn't meant to be a comfort. She was just helping him sleep.

The sheets on the bed were only rippled from the wind, almost tricking her into thinking Vegeta had been there recently. She straightened them out and when she went to do the same to the pillows, realised that there was only one pillow. Her heart sank a couple inches closer to her stomach. He definitely didn't want it to continue. Slowly, a sense of anger crept into her blood stream. She thought they'd gone past the acting childish phase. Why didn't he just tell her?

She paced out the room and went back to her own, flinging herself onto the cold sheets of her bed. Stupid Saiyans. Good thing the vacation was only two days away. The break from that ridiculous man, beast, monkey, dwarf-whatever he was-was a blessing in disguise. He didn't want her around him and she didn't want him around her.

The sheets wound themselves around her body in an awkward cocoon, leaving her facing the ceiling. She had no idea what time it was, but it was dark and her eye lids were slipping shut, despite her mind swimming with malicious thoughts. Within a couple minutes, she'd fallen asleep.

Bulma shot up and panicked at the severe restriction the bed-sheet-cocoon had given her.

A scream of agony reverberated down the corridor.

Vegeta.

She moved her shoulders, trying to shimmy her way out of the sheets, and rolled off the bed, bashing her forehead on the floor. She held in her scream and wriggled her way out the top, before galloping down the hall, ragging the strap of her nightdress back onto her shoulder.

As she reached his door, she saw her mother and father standing in the hallway just outside their own bedroom, her mom with her hand over her mouth and her dad wiping his glasses, then placing them back over his tired eyes.

She continued in, stepping slowly at first, until she saw Vegeta's body thrashing on the bed, like he had been possessed by a demon. Her skin prickled and it felt like the blood in her veins had been frozen solid, because she found it difficult to move with such dread looming over her.

"Vegeta," she shouted.

"Get away from me," he said, but his eyes were still closed.

Tears were running down his face.

She gasped.

A sudden burst of courage sent her across the room and on to his bed. His arms were flying everywhere. She didn't know where to put her own. Every time she held a hand out to grab him, he swung out and nearly hit her in the face.

She sat on her heels, as the mattress shifted up and down.

"Vegeta, wake up!" Her eyes flittered all over the room for anything to help. "Vegeta, please wake up."

There was nothing.

As one of his arms pounded the mattress, she quickly grabbed onto it. "Vegeta, it's me. Wake up!"

She held on tight, but knew that if he moved again she'd be thrown into the nearest wall too easily.

His body convulsed and his breathing slowed.

Bulma's breathing quickened as she watched on, terrified of him moving.

His eyes flicked open and he looked around the room until they met Bulma's, then he looked at the arm she had hold of. He panted and his chest started to slowly rise and fall back to normality. He closed his eyes again and frowned.

The sweat and tears were still fresh on his skin, and he knew they were there, cooling as he calmed. And Bulma had seen the whole thing.

She got up, shut his door, and went to the sliding door to open it wide and allow some cool air in, then lay down a few feet away from him. She didn't want to say anything. Truthfully, she didn't have a clue what to say to him. Nothing was appropriate. She didn't even look at him. The worry had made her feel nauseous and she just wanted to sleep.

Vegeta didn't speak either.

* * *

><p>It was like déjà vu. The sun warm on his skin, birds chirping. Whatever. He was on his own, but he had slept. And instead of waking up feeling refreshed, he woke up wanting to throttle something, or someone. The dream he had was too vivid this time. He closed his eyes, trying to recall some of the images …<p>

Clouds had swirled above him, pink, blue and purple. They parted and blood poured from the sky onto his paralyzed body. There was a thick smell of salt, like ocean water, and the taste of iron on his tongue. He remembered trying to close his eyes to stop the blood getting in them, but he couldn't, like they were jacked open with metal tooth picks, rusting from the red liquid. He was younger in the dream. He didn't know how he knew that; he just did. And when he saw Frieza glide down from between the clouds, he knew he was on planet Vegeta.

Vegeta opened his eyes again. The dream got worse, and he didn't want to recall it anymore.

Why, when having Bulma next to him, was he able to sleep?

He clenched the loose bed sheets beside him, lying flat out and not wanting to move, like there was a force constricting the blood flow in his limbs. But the only force that was stopping him from moving was himself. He had a lot to think about. Instead of wallowing over it like some pathetic human, he sat up quickly and slipped on a white t-shirt, jeans, and the training shoes he had worn the day before. The only place that really drew the thoughts from his brain was the desert. The same desert he went to with Bulma. The day they went there, he began thinking about things he wasn't able to anywhere else. There was something about that battlefield, which pulled out images and colours from his brain, like something literally pulling out a string of thought from his ear. It was moderately painful, but it had to be done.

Then, perhaps, he wouldn't have to rely on a human female to help him sleep.

Or was there more to it than that?

He slid open the door, stepped out and took off into the sky.

Back in the lab, Bulma sat down after pacing back and forth declaring a proposition to her work team for an hour or so. It was too hot today, and barely anyone was able to pay close attention. The only question that was asked was whether it was OK to put the air conditioning on. She kept her cool, though, and decided to postpone the rest of the meeting after she'd been on vacation. She had a day to pack all hers and Trunks' things before they had to set off on a seven hour flight.

That was one of the rules she'd set for everyone: they would go as humans. She wanted to go on vacation like regular humans, meaning they would wait in the airport, get on a plane, endure the length of the flight, and be totally excited by the time they got there. Sure, they could get there in half the time if they flew, but she didn't want that. That was fair, right?

She leaned back on her chair. It creaked a bit. The lab was so quiet now. She checked her watch, and it read seven thirty pm. It was about time for Trunks to go to bed, which was good because he'd been really rowdy today. Working in the lab for three hours, under roasting hot conditions, was like having a three hour break for Bulma. Trunks was getting a bit out of control and she didn't know how long she'd be able to handle him. She just hoped he wouldn't act up on vacation.

As she left the lab, hanging her coat up on the hooks just outside the entrance, she looked out of the window onto the front lawn. There was a soft breeze making the grass dance, and the lawn looked like a green ocean. It was peaceful, and she stared at it for a few minutes. This time tomorrow she would be looking out onto a beautiful shore with all her friends. She smiled, but it waned when Vegeta crept into her mind. Would he be OK on his own? He wasn't a child and didn't need looking after, but she couldn't help to worry about him after last night. The sight of him with tears streaked down his face was stuck in her head and wouldn't leave. It was as if it had been sculpted into the inside of her skull.

She carried on walking down the hall.

Vegeta was capable of taking care of himself.

That night, after packing a mountain of clothes, which she knew would never weigh within the limits of twenty kilos, Bulma got into Vegeta's bed. He wasn't there, but she didn't want a repeat of last night. Whatever he was doing, she presumed he was going to come back at some point.

What seemed like ten second after getting settled, the bed sheets moving about woke her as she was drifting off and she jumped a little. She was having a half-dream, where she was riding Nimbus with Goku all those years ago.

The warmth of Vegeta's body next to hers soon began emanating between them, bringing her back to the real world and that comfortable feeling, the feeling she resented having with Vegeta. The truth was that her feelings were on standby. It was like they had been switched over, like whatever was controlling them was watching a different channel at the moment. So she was able to deal with being around Vegeta without acting like a whiny, love struck teenager. Not that she acted like that anyway.

Vegeta rolled over, and Bulma, facing the ceiling, had to urge herself not to see if he was facing her, or looking at her. It felt awkward, as if was, but she definitely didn't want to check.

He rolled over again a couple minutes later, and again a few minutes more. The bed was getting too warm. Maybe that was why he was restless, even though he'd purposely left the sliding door open for air.

He rolled over again. This time, Bulma was too curious. "Vegeta?" she said, still gazing at the ceiling.

A few seconds passed. "What?"

"Are you OK?"

Vegeta sighed. There goes that damned question again. Couldn't she leave him alone? Despite going to that blasted desert and sitting there for hours in the blistering heat, he had yet to understand why his mind was such a mess. Obviously his past did not help the situation, but what was wrong with his present? Something was itching under his skin and he didn't know what it was. Kakarot had left, leaving him with the weight of failure on his shoulders. Yes, that was still there. He had a son to train in the very, very near future. Yes, that was there, too. And he didn't know how the hell he was going to go about with that one …

"Go to sleep," he said, and rolled onto his side.

Bulma clucked her tongue. "I'm trying, but you won't keep still. You keep fidgeting-"

"I'm fine, now be quiet."

She yawned. "Ok, whatever you say," and rolled onto her side, their backs a good distance apart.

Vegeta's mind buzzed with incoherent thoughts. He felt really irritated, like he was being bitten by a mosquito but couldn't locate the son of a bitch. The bed was too warm, as well. The sheets were clinging to his body. He put his arm under the cool side of his pillow and rested his head on it, until he lost blood flow in his arm and that position became far too uncomfortable. So he moved again, and again, and again, trying not to come into contact with the woman, the blue-haired woman who kept creeping out of his bedroom every morning as if he was riddled with some sort of disease-

Vegeta opened his eyes. The woman.

"Woman," he hissed in the darkness.

"Nuh-wha-what?" Bulma said, about to get on Nimbus again.

Vegeta sat up and stared at her back. She didn't even have the decency to face him when he spoke to her.

"In the morning, woman, why aren't you here?" After he said the words, he wished he could cram them back in his mouth again. As if he wanted to know why, really. It was her problem, not his.

Bulma felt stunned. Her mouth was dry and she'd dribbled onto the pillow. She snapped it shut and slowly turned to face Vegeta, who was glaring down at her.

"What?" she said again.

He frowned and looked towards the mirrors on his wardrobe, seeing both his and her reflection, but a little distorted in the darkness. "You go crawling back to your own quarters. Why?"

As much as Vegeta was trying to sound nasty, there was a hint of hurt in his voice. Bulma almost wondered why he cared, but it was way too obvious. He just couldn't admit it to himself.

"Answer me," he said, and his eyes met hers in the mirror.

"Ok, then, calm down," Bulma said as she sat up, letting her back rest on the headboard. "Because I don't want this to mean anything other than what it is. There. Is that OK?"

"What in the world?" His eyes narrowed, like he was trying to piece together what she meant.

Bulma looked at her palms, which were getting sweaty. "You know … I don't want to get comfortable." The confidence she had in herself was drifting out to shore and she was left on the sand, helplessly watching it float away. She didn't want to start blabbering about emotions to Vegeta. He just didn't get it. And didn't want to.

When he continued to stare at her accusingly, she spoke again, "Like, this is your room and your bed. Not mine. This situation … it's temporary."

"Do not speak to me as if I'm a three year old human. I know what this is." And he lay back down, ragging the majority of the bed sheets to his side.

Bulma's mouth gaped open. "What? That's it?"

"I asked you a question and you answered it. What do you want? A slap on the back?"

Bulma thought about something crude for a moment and blushed, before lying back down. "You're such a jerk."

"Whatever, woman. Go to sleep," he said, knowing full well that he wouldn't rest tonight.

She sat up again and crossed her arms. "No, you know what? I'm not tired anymore. You can talk to me now."

He guffawed. "Not a chance."

She watched his shoulders shake as he laughed. The jerk. That thing that was controlling her emotions? Well, it was on the right channel now, and she wouldn't rest until she knew for sure.

"The truth is," Bulma blurted out, unable to stop herself.

Vegeta tensed. He didn't want to hear whatever she was going to say. He had a right mind to put the pillow over his head … or her head.

"I like sleeping with you … Well, not sleeping _sleeping_ with you—"

"What in the name of Namek are you blabbering about?" Vegeta's face boiled with one hundred degree blood.

Bulma exhaled slowly and looked at the back of his head. "Sleeping together. It means two different things. One is the obvious and two mean having sex—"

Vegeta sat up, startling Bulma. "I know what it means! Shut your disgusting mouth and go to sleep, dammit."

His eyes were heated and shone in the darkness, like little beacons. Bulma gulped.

"Don't talk to me like that, or I swear, I'll go back to my room." She sat pointing a finger at him.

"Fine, see if I care." The heat in his eyes vanished, and Bulma couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed, as he literally shrugged any consideration off his shoulders.

She didn't move.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he said, crossing his arms, leaning back and nodding towards the door.

"Ok, then." She shimmed towards the end of the bed, then stopped. " Urgh. You know I can't. Either way, I'm not going to be able to sleep."

"Maybe if you'd shut up—"

"Maybe if you'd treat me with some respect."

Vegeta grinned.

_Only if she knew_.

He frowned. Where the hell did that thought come from?

He slumped back down into a lying position, and dragged his pillow over his face.

"Oh, that's mature, Vegeta," Bulma said, and tried to yank it away from him.

She waited patiently in the darkness until he took the pillow away from his face, then she grabbed her pillow and swung it towards him, but failed. It all happened within a second, but he was sitting up, the offending pillow in one hand and her wrist in the other.

He smirked, and saw how wide her eyes were. It only spelled trouble, so he let go of her wrist and went to turn away.

Bulma felt her emotions click back on instantly, and it almost made her feel faint. Like a tidal wave, that single emotion collided with any other rational thoughts, and made her take action. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking as she touched the top of his arm.

His skin was warm, almost hot. Her hands were definitely sweaty, but she didn't care about that.

Vegeta didn't look at her because he knew _it_ was _her_. It was she who was itching away under his skin, affecting his present, medalling with his past and making him think about his future. The future he didn't think he had until a few days ago. The thought of her leaving his room made him want to punch a hole through the bed. He wanted to tie her down to the bed so she couldn't leave. These thoughts made him shiver. Not because he wanted them, but because he was afraid of them. And he hated being afraid. It was very rare for him to fear anything.

It was as clear as day.

Bulma's hands were on his face now, and it was as if she was reading his thoughts.

"Vegeta, this is OK," she said as his pupils shrank.

The battles, the plateaus he had continually tried to reach, the constant struggles with his past, all seemed to melt away when she looked at him like this. He closed his eyes and sighed, letting it all go under the feel of his skin touching his.

"It's temporary," Bulma said, as she leaned over to him and kissed him lightly on the cheek, like a mother would a child.

That, he did not accept, and opened his eyes when she tried to move away from him, and then held her to him, so she couldn't move; supporting the bottom of her back with his hand.

When their lips met, it wasn't as feverish as it had been in the past. This was slow, intense and delicate all at the same time. His hands drifted down her back, feeling the silk of her nightdress against his fingertips, tracing over the little bumps of her spine. The heat of her skin was searing through her dress.

She let her arms rest over his shoulders, not wanting to take any more than he was giving her. Until he pushed her down onto the bed, and kissed her neck, then her chest. What was happening?

Bulma's breathing hitched, as she looked up at the ceiling, while Vegeta felt the curves of her body, being extra gentle. It was distracting.

"Vegeta," she said.

He looked up at her, stopping what he was doing.

"You don't have to do this, you know."

He snarled. "I'll do what I want," and smirked, before whipping off her night dress, leaving her lying with the cold air washing over her bare skin.

He continued to kiss her, not caring about whatever it was this meant, because he was doing it anyway, nipping at every inch of perfect skin on her body. He wanted this control. He needed it.

Bulma writhed in precious agony beneath him as his mouth traced the curves further down her abdomen, and she plucked at the sheets with sweaty palms.

He pulled down his shorts and they slid off the side of the bed, landing on top of the fallen duvet covers. Now their skin was touching, brushing gently, slowly as they became closer and closer. Vegeta, with one elbow digging into the mattress while his free hand massaged Bulma's right breast, was concerned why Bulma wasn't as eager as he had once remembered, so he stopped, looked up at her. She was still breathless, but there was something else.

She lowered her gaze, her cheeks glowing crimson, her body aching for him to continue.

"Vegeta, I'm not on anything," she said, looking to the side.

"What?" he said, his warm breath tickling her stomach.

"I'm not on any contraception."

He grinned. "There's no use for that."

Bulma gawped and sat up on her elbows. "You weren't like that last week in the desert. No, no way. I can't take the risk."

Vegeta stared, vaguely impressed, but utterly outraged.

"What? Unless you want to put a condom on—"

"I'd rather go back to Other World," he said and sat up onto his heels a little too quickly.

Bulma mirrored his actions. "Fine. Then it's not happening."

They sat staring at each other for a few seconds, drinking in the image of one another. Vegeta's chest was dotted with beads of sweat and his hair looked fuzzy with moisture. It was far too hot in the room, unless they'd just made it that way.

Bulma's entire body was still pulsing and throbbing from his touch. She desperately wanted to pin him down and finish what they'd started, but it was a definite bad idea. A bad, bad idea. Sure, they could do other things, but weren't they apart literally minutes ago? The whole thing had happened in such a rush, yet none of it felt wrong at all. It wasn't like last time. Vegeta was still sitting in front of her, watching her closely. She bit her lip, and that was when he moved back down on to the bed, and lay facing the ceiling. She had the urge to get on top of him almost instantly, but brushed it away just as quick.

A welcomed breeze covered Bulma's body, but she felt too exposed after a few seconds of it, so she climbed under the sheets, not caring for putting her clothes back on. She pulled the loose sheet over and lay down, allowing the silence to engulf the room. She still wanted his touch.

Vegeta balled his fists, having to restrain himself from ignoring the stupid rule of contraception. The entire fiasco had riled him up and he couldn't just leave it as that. His erection was hard to ignore and hard to get rid of. He closed his eyes tight.

"Trunks and I are going on vacation tomorrow for two weeks," Bulma said, and Vegeta's erection seemed to be long forgotten.

"What?"

"Tomorrow. We're going to Hawaii with everyone. You're welcome to come if you—"

"Don't be so foolish. What would make you think I'd be willing to join a bunch of cretins on their vacation?"

"I was just asking. God, Vegeta …"

He folded his arms above his head. "Whatever, woman. Will you let me sleep now?"

Bulma looked at him and thought _fuck it_, before moving across and laying her head on his chest. He flinched but didn't do anything to discourage her, and before long, she fell asleep.

He sat awake watching her for about half an hour, unsure whether to shift her off him. What on Earth was the prince of Saiyans doing, allowing an Earth woman to fling herself over him like this? He was completely relaxed, though. Her hair was sprawled over his chest, and looked a lot like seaweed, which is particularly attractive, but it was on her. This is what she did to him. And he didn't hate it.

Not so much, anyway.

He closed his eyes.

What the hell was she going on vacation for?

* * *

><p>AN - Like? No like? Let me know, either by leaving a comment, or sending me a personal message. I'll be sure to get back.

Thanks for reading. 'hugs'


	10. Cracked

Igniting the Fire – Chapter 10

The water rippled beneath them, slapping the legs of the pier. Bulma could see the waves from between the loose planks of wood, which, somehow, kept her safe from the blue lagoon of doom. Yamcha, Krillin and Eighteen jogged to the edge of the pier, each still dripping with saltwater from their last dive. Like creepy mechanical dolls (no offense to Eighteen), they all turned around and grinned at Bulma, who was stepping backwards without being aware of it.

Krillin shook his head and chuckled. "C'mon now, Bulma. You have to conquer your fear someday."

Bulma bit her bottom lip and briefly looked at the cloudless sky beyond the horizon, the heat from the sun pulsing gently on her shoulders. The last time she was in the sea, she was attacked by a giant crab. Granted, she whooped its ass, but she was protected by a ship. No way was she going in there wearing nothing but a flimsy swimsuit.

Eighteen rolled her eyes and flicked her blonde hair, catching Krillin's attention instantly. "I'm bored of waiting. She's no fun, just get over it." She took on a sprinters stance and dived off the edge of the pier.

Bulma counted the two seconds before she heard a splash. She shuddered. She would jump if it was a bit further back, where she could see the sand at the bottom of the water, and anything else that could potentially swim past, but not at the very end. The water was too deep and dark, and she liked to feel the floor at all times. These guys didn't understand. They could fly. They were used to the floor being miles beneath them.

Krillin sighed and jumped off after Eighteen, while Yamcha stayed and stared at Bulma. He walked over, his swim shorts beginning to dry in the heat.

He put a reassuring arm over Bulma's shoulders, and she winced from the sting of her sunburn. Four days they had been in Hawaii, and she'd burnt like a bitch. A girl had to pay the price for having perfect porcelain skin.

"What ever happened to the wild girl, who loved adventure and getting her hands dirty every once and a while?" he said and grinned mischievously.

Bulma threw his arm off her. "Are you dumb? I never liked getting my hands dirty, unless it was in the lab. Do you not remember any of the time we spent together?"

Yamcha blushed, and then feigned a cough, before continuing. "Ok, so maybe I was wrong, but technically, the water won't do anything other than keep your hands clean, so it's perfect for you."

They both walked to the edge, Bulma eyeing Yamcha suspiciously in case he was thinking about doing something stupid. From behind, on the beach, she heard Chichi egging her on, and when she looked back, Trunks was there too, standing and waving his arms.

She gulped. It was her vacation, which meant she was obliged to do things she wouldn't usually be able to do back home. Jumping off a pier was one of those things. The water sloshed around beneath her, and she stared at it for a few seconds, before she felt an elbow dig into her side.

"C'mon, B, we can jump at the same time," Yamcha said, flashing his most honest smile.

She snorted. "Oh, yeah, like I'm falling for that."

Her eyes fell to his hand, which was open for hers to take. The shouts from her friends seemed to get louder, as Krillin and Eighteen joined in from the water, splashing to coax her.

Bulma realised something. Even when she was on holiday, away from work, away from her parents, away from Vegeta, her life still begged for challenges, for her to take risks. This was small in comparison to things she'd previously had to do, so what was the harm in jumping?

A smile edged its way across her face, and she took Yamcha's hand. They both jumped, arms flailing and waving, until Bulma could see nothing but bubbles gathering around her, as the cold water consumed every inch of her body, clouding her mind for a few precious solitary moments. Instinctively, she clawed away from that tranquil state of mind—her happy place—and reached the surface, where Krillin and Yamcha lifted her up and threw her into the air, just for her to crash into the water again. They ran and jumped off the pier several times after that, before retreating from exhaustion, and waded back to the sand, where the others waited.

The vacation was a hit, and it was only four days in. Bulma was actually tanning slightly. Either that or the sense of relaxation was giving her a new, healthy glow. They had an evening meal booked for eight, so they gathered their things from the beach and headed back to their rooms. Yamcha's cabana was on the other side of the hotel complex, and took him fifteen minutes to walk back to. That was if he did walk. Bulma still wanted this to be a holiday of normality, which meant no flying around or firing Ki blasts at one another for fun. That was the last thing she wanted; another headline in the paper, and not for any good reasons.

Keeping a low profile was important.

It was great that Chichi's cabana was only a few yards shy of her own. That way Gohan could easily come around and play with Trunks, if he wanted.

Later that evening, Bulma stepped out of the shower, Trunks in her arms clad in a tiny shower cap that Bunny had made, and she padded out towards her four-posted bed. She sat Trunks down, giving him a stuffed Barney toy to keep him occupied while she rummaged through their suitcases for something smart to wear.

Two minutes later, she sighed gratefully, holding up a miniature-sized tuxedo, allowing Trunks to scrutinize it. "You are going to look so handsome in this, my little man," she said as she held the jacket shoulders and waved it in the air, like it was alive.

Trunks dropped the Barney toy and stared at the tux, his mouth gaping open.

"Speechless, I know," she said and walked towards him.

He threw Barney across the room, hitting a lamp off a wicker table.

Bulma watched as the lamp hit the floor—luckily without smashing—then turned her attention back to her son, who was sitting up-right, arms crossed and a very fine crease between his eyebrows. At that moment, he looked the exact image of a troubled Saiyan. A troubled Saiyan, who just happened to be his father.

* * *

><p>The sound of the blast reverberated through the canyon long after he'd unleashed it. It was a nice, familiar, yet distant sound, something that rang true, deep into his soul every time he heard it. He was used to hearing the sound of pain and death following it, but now it was just an unwelcome silence, as it batted off into the distance. He would have followed it, to keep it near him.<p>

Rocks crumbled to his left, in the general direction of where he fired the Ki blast. They too, echoed melodically in the empty space he'd found. On impulse he fazed over to where the rocks were falling and blasted each and every single piece, until they rained into millions of pebbles. Vegeta continued to do this until he was satisfied with his agility. He was quicker than before. A lot quicker. If he could focus on that, then he could reach a new plateau in no time. He was sure of it.

Eventually, his vision blurred and his moves became sloppy and uncoordinated. But that was good. That was what he wanted. If he rendered himself unconscious, he was bound to gain a dreamless sleep, and wake up without his skin boiling and dripping in his own sweat and terror. The heat gathered around him as he powered up a ki blast, one last shot. This one was going to be the strongest he'd ever done. The energy slowly accumulated around his body, and he focused it into his palms. A drop of sweat threatened to trickle between his eyes as the sun tortured his skin.

The energy around him grew and he screamed as it flew up and down his arms like electricity. The pain was too much, too harsh, and it rooted his feet into the dry dirt, deeper and deeper. A slight flicker of uncontrolled power filtered through his veins, throwing him backwards onto the ground, knocking the air out of his lungs.

At first he thought he'd succeeded in falling asleep, but when he opened his eyes to see the sun in the exact same position, he laughed. His laughter turned raucous and raspy, before he coughed continuously, until tiny spatters of blood jumped out of his mouth and landed on his chin and lips.

It had been five days. He was losing control.

* * *

><p>After the meal, and setting Trunks to bed, Bulma and Yamcha went for a midnight walk across the beach to where his cabana was. They took a detour, so the journey would last longer, forcing Bulma to take her shoes off and let her feet revel in the cool sand. They talked about general things and fell into a comfortable silence, accompanied by the whisper of the waves and the odd, unfamiliar birds in the palm trees.<p>

Yamcha kicked the sand, which was beginning to irritate Bulma. She was about to tell him to stop, when he spoke.

"Hey, B," he said, looking up at the full moon, and remembering the trouble they had with Goku back in the good old days.

Bulma looked up too, slowing as she did.

"I'm sorry if I've been a pain in the ass over these few years. It's just—"

"Yamcha, don't, please—" she said, stopping, ready to turn back.

He reached out and held her arm gently. "No, let me say this."

Bulma sighed and looked past him at the pier she'd jumped off merely hours ago. It looked even worse in the dark. Like the silhouette of a strange, sixteen-legged creature.

"I haven't been trying to win you over, honest. I know that can never happen. I still care about you, though." He let go of her arm and placed his hands in his trouser pockets.

He was looking so handsome tonight.

"So, obviously when I find out that you're in-love with 'Mr Psycho-Saiyan', I'm gonna be worried about you."

Bulma met his gaze, honestly surprised by what he was trying to say.

He chuckled and looked at the floor. "What I've been trying to do is make you change your mind about Vegeta, not me. And I know it's wrong. I know that now."

Bulma felt a twinge of anger.

"Because you can't change the way someone feels."

The anger dissipated and tears threatened to show. She swallowed them back down. "It's that obvious, huh?"

Yamcha laughed and threw his arm around his friend. "You couldn't have picked a more complicated guy."

She smiled, wiped away a tear with her thumb, and they continued to walk down the beach. "Urgh. What is wrong with me?"

"Nothing," Yamcha said, and turned to face her.

They were half way between Yamcha's and Bulma's rooms. Yet they had been walking for hours.

"We should get back, it's almost two a.m.," he said, checking his watch.

Two a.m.? Bulma yawned and nodded, before hugging Yamcha and heading back to her own room. Before she went back in, she sat out on the porch to watch the wind wade through the palm trees. She'd never felt as calm as she did now.

* * *

><p>The sheets were drenched in sweat when Vegeta lunged out of another horrific nightmare. He screamed at the top of his lungs when he looked at the alarm clock, which read 1:30am. It had been an hour since he went to rest. The dreams wouldn't allow him to rest. His brain wouldn't let him sleep. It was his mind. The lack of self-control … the weakness.<p>

His door creaked open, revealing the blonde-haired wench, coyly checking in on him like he was an infant. She had done this every night for the past six nights. Couldn't he be left alone?

"Vegeta dear, are you alright, sweetie? Dr Briefs and I … we couldn't help but hear you—"

"Get out, woman, before I rip you to shreds, like these blasted bed sheets."

She looked at the floor, noticing all the torn sheets. "Well, if you need any help, you know where we are, now." And she slunk out the door, closing it softly after.

Vegeta closed his eyes, desperately wanting sleep, but also unwilling to face what was in his sub-conscious. This dream was by far the worst, even when it shouldn't have been. He was watching Bulma and his son, playing on the beach. Kakkarot was there, too. All of those idiots were there. Until Cell showed up. He picked them off like scabs. Gohan wasn't able to stop him, either. Bulma and Trunks were the last to die. Despite her screams, Cell showed no mercy, laughing as he chopped her up into tiny pieces.

Even thinking about it made Vegeta's gut churn. He didn't have time to think as he darted to the bathroom to vomit, unable to reach the toilet in time. He wiped his mouth, ripped the shower curtain from its hooks and threw it over the mess he'd made. Someone else could clean that up. His head throbbed. He didn't know if it was from the lack of sleep, the intensity of the nightmares, or if he was slowly dying, but it was getting ridiculous.

He stepped out onto his balcony and looked out onto West City, the bright lights that flickered in the distance. Humans lived all around him, and he allowed that to happen. He was a Saiyan, and yet, he lived among humans, like it was second nature. But it wasn't second nature, was it? It was abnormal, and frankly, embarrassing. He was glad his father was dead for a number of reasons, but if he knew what the prince of all Saiyans was doing now, he would be bitterly disappointed and humiliated.

Vegeta gripped the railings and looked up at the stars, the glow of where his planet used to be, still shining even years after its demise. He felt warmth through his body, like a fondness, similar to the damned feeling he got when he was with Bulma. He missed his home.

* * *

><p>The curtains blew violently, knocking Bulma's cosmetics off the dresser. She stretched her legs out on the bed, cradling a sleeping Trunks. Maybe she should pick everything up, but there was nowhere else to put them other than the floor. The wind wasn't going to let out.<p>

She dabbed her forehead with a damp cloth, trying not to move too much for fear of waking her son, who'd only just managed to get to sleep. He was getting pretty tired of the heat and humidity. It's not fun dealing with a grumpy Saiyan. Even one as young as Trunks.

She slid of the bed slowly, still holding Trunks, and walked to the patio door. Closing the door was so tempting, but it was way too hot. As she looked out the window, saw the blades on the palm trees whipping at the sky, a black cloud, weaved with shades of purple, ploughed towards them.

"That's weird," she mumbled, and eventually shut the door tight when a flash of lightening, followed by a crack of thunder shook the room.

The room was almost pitch black, which was odd seeing as it was only half four. Bulma went to switch the lights and air conditioning on, when another flash and crack erupted, this time waking Trunks up. He babbled softly to himself at first, then his eyes widened when he realised he'd woken up, and he cried.

"Oh, Trunks, not now," Bulma said as she placed him back on the bed to change his diaper. May as well get it done while he's awake.

There hadn't been a single word from her friends all day, not that she was complaining. After spending so much solid time with people you thought you could tolerate, you start to see all the irritating things they do as clear as daylight. Krillin and Eighteen being two of those people. She honestly didn't expect them to be so … in love. In fact, she envied them. It was getting a bit unbearable. Eighteen was nearly as stubborn as Vegeta, so why couldn't he accept what they-

Bulma winced as the thunder grew closer, hurriedly grabbing the talcum powder for Trunks' bottom. She'd always had a deep fear of lightening, after reading an article about a girl who'd been struck by it while sleeping in bed. It came through the ceiling.

Bulma used to sit in her dad's lab, because she knew the lightening couldn't penetrate the metal ceiling.

This room was made from nothing but wood and plaster to make it look rustic and authentic to the island. It could easily catch fire.

After fastening up Trunks' diaper, she lifted him and walked him to the porch door again to look out at the sky. His eyes shone with amazement at the rumbling clouds and dancing tree tops, even at the deck chair that flew across the grass. There might have even been a hint of a smile on his face. Typical Saiyan: pleased at the sight of destruction.

But Bulma couldn't help but stare in astonishment when the next flash bleached the view before her, leaving a blurred outline of a spikey-haired man. When her eyes adjusted—all within a split second—there wasn't anything there, except the lid from a portable barbecue rolling over a few times before coming to a flat stop. She unclenched her fists, which she must have clenched subconsciously, and felt her heart rate quicken and slow again.

A phone vibrating set her off again. She yelped, making Trunks laugh, and stomped over to the phone at the side of the bed. Her dad's face flashed repeatedly on the screen. Goosebumps prickled her skin. Her dad never rings, always her mom.

She gingerly placed the phone to her ear. "Dad," she said, placing Trunks down on the bed.

"Bulma, are you OK?" His voice sounded dry and raspy.

"Yeah … What's up?"

Another rumble of thunder.

"I checked the forecast. That storm is moving rapidly."

"No, it's fine. It'll pass soon. Actually, I can see blue sky coming through now," she said, pulling back the mosquito nets.

He paused.

"Dad, why are you really calling?" She knew he wouldn't be worried about a minor storm.

"Oh, nothing. Just your mother. You know how she gets …"

"What's wrong with mom? You sound sick; are you all right?"

"Me? I'm perfectly healthy, Bulma." He sighed, and she could hear him breathe in deeply before continuing. "Vegeta hasn't been home in a few days."

Bulma rolled her eyes. "What's new there."

"Yes. I know that, Bulma. But your mother went up to his room to check up on him, because he's been acting odd lately, and it looked like there had been a massacre in there."

Bulma lost the function of speech. Her dad sounded really angry. She hardly ever heard him like that.

"There was blood smeared all over the bed sheets, the walls and ceiling …" She knew he was grasping at his hair. "That man is not sane and certainly not safe to have around my grandson or my house. I don't know where he's taken himself, but he's not permitted back on capsule corp grounds. Not if he has murdered someone, Bulma."

Bulma felt glued to the floor. All forms of response eluded her. Her mind was on standby as her father's words spiraled around her. What had Vegeta done? Why?

"Is mom OK?" she managed to blurt out.

"Yes. She's alright now. It's taken her a while to calm down …"

"What? When did this happen?"

"Ah, a couple of days ago. I didn't want it to ruin your vacation—"

"Dad, I'm meant to be coming home tomorrow. You should have told me this." Bulma looked around the room. "I'm coming home."

Dr Briefs sighed again. "I think that's the sensible thing to do."

She nodded. "I brought a capsuled ship. Just ... don't get the police involved. Not yet, anyway."

He chuckled, but it sounded strained and forceful. "I thought you would. And, I won't. Not yet." His daughter was always prepared for the worst.

She hung up, held the phone to her chest while she collected her thoughts.

A beam of sunlight spread, like an outstretched arm, across the floor, and she watched it move for a few seconds.

Trunks had drifted back off to sleep.

She nodded to herself. Time to pack.

* * *

><p>Bulma landed perfectly on the lawn, without destroying any of her mom's flowers. It had taken her nine hours to fly home. At least she'd cut an extra three hours from a normal flight. She hadn't even switched the engine off when she saw Bunny running over, her face beaming with a beautiful smile. Bulma felt a lump in her throat. Her mom must have been petrified over the past few days.<p>

It wasn't easy convincing her friends with her reason for leaving early. They'd all planned a 'last day of vacation' party, to which it was obligatory to attend. Well, Bulma's mom had taken quite ill and needed her to be home to keep an eye on her. Everyone apart from Chichi eventually accepted the excuse. There was no getting by that woman. Even if Bulma was telling the truth, she was sceptical. It didn't matter, because Bulma left before she could do anything. She'd just have to deal with it when Chichi returned home the next day.

She carefully stepped out the jet holding Trunks. When Bunny reached them, she took Trunks and held him tight.

"Oh, my little Trunks, you're home sweet home now," she cooed as Trunks face squashed into her own.

Bulma frowned. "Is he here?"

Bunny smiled. "Who? Vegeta?"

Bulma had to pull her jacket over, unaccustomed to the slight chill of West City in the evening.

"No, he's not, dear," she said, momentarily looking expressionless, before looking at Trunks and smiling again.

"Ok." Bulma stared at the grass. "Where's dad?"

"He's in his lab."

"Do you mind watching Trunks for a sec, while I go talk to him?"

"Oh, I would be delighted to, dear," she said and pressed her nose against Trunks'. He tried to pull away, before yielding to his overly affectionate grandmother.

Bulma ran to the lab, where she found her father hunched over a desk, scribbling frantically on some blue paper.

The doors slid shut behind her, making her jump. The room was so quiet, only the slight buzz and hum of electrical equipment going on around her. It felt like she was ten years old again, sneaking into her father's lab for the first time, and knowing she shouldn't be there. She hardly went to her father's lab. She had her own now, and spent most of her time in there. Only if she desperately needed his help, would she venture out. The last time she spent time in there was when they reconstructed android sixteen.

"What are you working on?" she said, walking over to where he was stood.

It took a few second before he turned around, fixing his glasses and straightening his jacket. "A stronger security system," he said firmly, with nothing but sincerity in his voice.

Bulma tensed. "Dad, seriously—"

"No, Bulma. That maniac is not coming back—"

"You can't stop him." She hated that she had to remind her father of this. It was true.

His moustache twitched. He stared at his daughter.

"Go and rest," Bulma said, putting her hand on his shoulder. It relaxed instantly. "You look worn out."

"Yes, you're right." He nodded, turned round to gather all his paper work, and headed out the door, leaving Bulma in the one room she felt like a trespasser in.

Her head throbbed a bit. She pushed her palms into her eyes and rubbed them. When she stopped to take a look around, she could only see black blotches floating around in front of her.

She couldn't even comprehend what was going on. One second she's in Hawaii, the next, she's back home contending with a severely pissed of father, and a Saiyan, who'd done God knows what and left her to deal with all the shit. She felt _angry_ about it more than anything. Why would he do something so stupid? Did she seriously have to sit around and babysit him? The minute she leaves, he goes and does something crazy like that?

Thinking about what it was exactly that he'd done, made another feeling surface. Fear. Whatever it was, she needed to know. Her father wouldn't tell her the full details about Vegeta's behaviour over the past two weeks, so she had to find out herself. But for now, she was too tired. Whether she would get some sleep or not, she didn't know. The thought that Vegeta had lost his mind was a little unnerving.

* * *

><p>Bulma woke up. She lay there, before checking the time. It was still dark and way too early to get up.<p>

She felt anxious, and her stomach gurgled. Not from hunger. She wasn't hungry. She was very, very anxious.

Vegeta was here.

She didn't know how she knew that, but she did, and her legs automatically swung over the edge of the bed, forcing her to stand up. She walked, half awake, and unsure where she was going, but downstairs seemed like the right place to go.

All the lights were out, even the landing. The house was completely silent. All these things would usually terrify her, but she kept walking regardless.

She saw the light at the end of the corridor. The light to her own lab. Her chest tightened. How the hell did someone get access to her lab? Her feet moved quicker until she started running, and burst into the lab.

There was the sound of bust fuses and electricity sparks snapping, but she didn't look to where they were coming from. She only saw Vegeta, leaning over a work bench, reading some blueprints.

She blinked. Maybe it was a dream.

No.

"How did you get in here?" The anger overwhelmed her. "_Why_ are you in here?"

Before she left for vacation, she honestly thought water between her and Vegeta had settled. But he had to go and thrash around in it, like a toddler with armbands on.

The heat in the lab was too close. Almost wet. She still had the jeans and t-shirt she arrived home in on. It was way too warm in here for jeans.

"I'm talking to you, Vegeta."

He didn't turn to address her. "I think that last question applies more to you," he said, tracing a gloved finger across a line on the blueprint.

What the hell was he doing?

Bulma narrowed her eyes, tempted to walk out.

"My vacation was cut short because you'd done hell knows in your room, scared my mom half to death, and pissed my dad off. And my dad never gets mad, Vegeta … What the hell did you _do_?"

She stood still, aware that she was scared of him right now.

He turned on his heels, and Bulma gasped at the sight of him. Although he was dressed in pristine-looking Saiyan attire, his face was a wreck. It looked grey and lifeless. It looked like he'd ages significantly, by at least ten years. There were huge stress lines on his forehead, that were hard to ignore, his eyes were red and watering. He looked frightening.

Bulma took a small step backwards. This was definitely not right.

"Tell me. What would be the benefit of me, a prince, answering to you, a pathetic whore, who does nothing but follow me round, begging for me to feed her foul needs?" He started walking towards. No, stumbling.

A heavy lump sat in Bulma's throat. Why would he say such a cruel thing? "My dad was right … you've gone crazy." She stood her ground. She knew this man, knew what he was and wasn't capable of. Hurting her wasn't one of them. And she meant _really_ hurting her.

A drop of sweat trailed down her neck and shirt.

Vegeta stood before her now. "Have fun on your vacation?" He tried to keep his eyes open, but to little avail. It felt like they had blocks of lead sitting on top of them. Bulma was a welcomed sight, but he couldn't let himself feel that for her. He could not rely on her to keep him sane.

He sniffed the air around her, then grinned. "Did Scarface keep you company?" His nose wrinkled at the foul smell of that idiot on her skin. "Oh, yes, he did indeed." A pain in his gut made him take a step back. The thought of her with that rat made him feel nauseous. Why would she resort in his company?

Bulma caught a whiff of whiskey as Vegeta stepped back, and she looked around the room until her eyes fell upon the empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the side unit.

"Have you … Vegeta, you've been drinking." She grimaced and shook her head.

His eyes blazed and he clenched his fist. "Don't talk to me like I'm a child!"

Bulma winced. She wouldn't speak to Trunks like that. He behaved better. She thanked Kami that the lab was sound proof. She did not want her parents to know Vegeta was home.

"I've had enough," he muttered, looking aimlessly around the room.

"Then why are you here?" Bulma said behind clenched teeth. How many times had they been through this conversation? She was close to tearing her hair out. She did not love the man who stood unbalanced before her. Even for Vegeta, this was bad. The lump in her throat was getting bigger.

"I have nowhere else to go." He pounded a control panel beside him and sparks zipped across the room as the panel collapsed.

Bulma fought the urge to scream at him. She just exhaled very slowly. What else could she do? Right now he was unpredictable. The tears were welling in her eyes.

"Who's blood was in your room, Vegeta?" A sob escaped, and she caught her mouth before any more tried to do the same thing. If Vegeta had killed someone, she could not love him. She just couldn't.

He looked away from the bust control panel, over to Bulma, and frowned when he saw tears. His gut wretched again, forcing him to grab hold of his abdomen.

"Please, just answer the question," she said.

"I had to feel like a Saiyan again," he said, searching her tear-filled eyes.

She could barely see anymore. She wanted to run.

"You wouldn't understand. Not even for a moment." He looked away, clenching his fists.

Bulma coughed. "Did you kill someone?" She didn't expect this much pain.

He approached her, invading the little space she had to escape, standing only inches away.

She closed her eyes, unable to look at the monster in front of her.

"No." He exhaled. "It was a beast from a forest near Kakkarot's."

Bulma sobbed again, almost choking on tears. These were not of fear, though. The relief was too overwhelming. It caught her and lifted her up. She almost fainted from the pain that made itself known in her head.

"Why did you—" she managed.

"I'm exhausted," he said, and she opened her eyes to look at his washed out face.

He looked different to her now. Vulnerable. He'd gone from being completely alien to slightly human in a matter of seconds.

"Vegeta, you can't do that here."

"I can do what I want," he scowled, leaning forward.

"No. Don't bring that shit back here. Leave your killings somewhere else. Please."

Vegeta should have felt a bit insulted that she'd accused him of killing a human. The thing was … he was going to. He really was going to kill more than one human, but he didn't. He didn't know whether he was disappointed about that decision yet.

Bulma felt overpowered with relief. It hit her like a gust of wind, and she flew forward, grabbing Vegeta into a hard embrace.

His body wobbled under her grip, but she steadied him, oblivious that he wasn't returning the gesture. He never would. She knew that.

He smelled terrible. Like rotten fish.

They stayed like that, silent, for thirty seconds before Vegeta became uncomfortable and nauseous.

"Woman. Get off me. Now," he said, gradually peeling her away from him.

She stood back, looking into his dark eyes.

"You'll answer me one question." He frowned, looking off to the left. He didn't want to stoop to this level, but something told him he had to.

Bulma cocked an eyebrow.

"Did you …" He cleared his throat. "Did you and Scarface mate?" Somehow his frown became deeper.

Bulma gawped. Not forgetting the disgusting way he spoke to her moments ago. She looked over to the empty bottle of whiskey again. He wouldn't have said those things otherwise, and he definitely wouldn't be asking her this question now.

"No. I didn't. Why the hell would I do that, Vegeta? God, sometimes, you make me want to scream."

He smirked, but his face lacked too much emotion. It was sagged and lifeless. His eyelids dropped and he stumbled forward. Sleep had never felt more welcoming. He'd practically spent two weeks without sleep. For any human, that would have been enough to kill them, and he felt close to that himself, but somehow he was functioning. Just.

He walked past Bulma, hoping she would follow. "We're going to bed." She was his salvation. For the moment.

Bulma stood watching the lab door slide shut after Vegeta left, unable to decide. No matter the reason or conclusion to the night, Vegeta was a big problem. He had scared her family over the past few days, including her father, who she'd never seen react in such a way before. Even she had felt scared. But something in her knew that he wouldn't have killed anyone. Even though he did do something disgusting anyway, and inexcusable. He wasn't well. He was sick. He wasn't on his home planet. He was on Earth, and he wasn't settling. Maybe he would never settle at all.

There were so many things she had to figure out. And he wasn't going to get out of what he'd done without any scratches.

* * *

><p><strong>AN - Hope you liked. This took me ages to get right. At first it was too long and took a way too long to read, so I re-wrote the entire thing. I hope the really short bursts of scenes work well for you. I think they make the story move quicker, and I think that was important for this particular chapter.**

**Anyway, I know there are a few loose ends in this chapter, but they'll get tied up in the next one. Take is as a two-parter.**

**Thank you for reading. Let me know what you think.**

**Fletchi ;)**


	11. Flamed

**A/N - The 'therapy' in this chapter is completely made up. I just mashed up a load of the stuff I remembered from high school psychology lessons. There will be loads of flaws in it, but just remember, it's based on DBZ ... people can fly ... a lot of crazy shit can happen. Try and go with it, heh.**

**Oh, and, the Dr Isha. I looked up 'Doctor' in Japanese and it's Isha, so, yeah, he's called DR Doctor. Lolololol.**

**Enjoy :3**

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><p><span>Igniting the Fire<br>

Chapter 11

_This practice will significantly reduce the patient's level of anxiety, tension and stress. Likewise, assisting in insomnia, subconscious terror, eating disorders, etc. finding the root cause of the behaviour and disrupting its pattern completely. Some of the side effects are listed below:_

Dr Haro Isha snapped the book shut, evading Bulma's over-the-shoulder reading. Not that Bulma minded. She'd researched the method long before he arrived, page after page, cover to cover, highlighting all the key aspects, the necessary equipment needed to perform efficiently. Oh, it had all been dealt prior to the doctors prying. She pulled out her glasses case, opening it while keeping a trained eye on Isha. He always seemed to have a fixed look of bemusement, as if she'd just stolen his ice cream cone on a hot day, but he meant well enough. Secretly, she knew he had a problem with being given orders, meticulously collected orders, by a woman. Bulma guessed he had a wife at home, maybe a couple of kids who were obviously training to be in the same working field as he, while he strode in late every night to eat his dinner, then go to his office, where everything was made from leather (because that was his secret fetish for a number of other reasons. Not because 'he liked the smell'.), and he'd sit in there writing until he eventually fell asleep.

Oh yes. She'd seen guys like this before.

Placing her glasses on, keeping a lingering hand on the frame, she coughed to get Dr Isha's attention. Immediately, he turned around, clasping the offending book to his right hip, away from her reach, all the while taking a brief glance at her standing.

"Your views, Dr?" she said, crossing her arms over her white lab jacket.

The lab was bustling with scientists, fixing equipment, running around with clipboards, stopping at Bulma to ask if their calculations were on par with what she expected. Mercedes, Bulma's new lab partner and the main co-ordinate of this project, who had been working with her for just over a month now, reached Bulma's side, attentively waiting for the Dr's response.

"My views. Right." He fumbled in his pockets, looking quite shaken by the scrutiny of two leading scientists.

Bulma and Mercedes shared a look of confusion. Wasn't this supposed to be one of the most famous mental therapists in the world, and yet, he needed a book to gather what was involved?

He produced a pen and note pad, and began to scrawl. "You see, there are a number of levels in the unconscious and subconscious mind. Only a few of the levels we can work with, or access."

Bulma nodded, watching as he drew a small chart. Other scientists slowed down as they passed by, to get a quick glimpse.

"Say there are two levels. We can only work with one. Unfortunately, the human mind is far more intricate than that. It's sectioned off into chambers. Like sleep chambers, as you will." He smiled.

After that, Bulma lost focus. Not because of the dumbed down analysis, but because of the one flaw in the project – it worked on the human brain. Last time she checked, Vegeta wasn't human. There was a major risk that it could make the outcome redundant, or worse, it could cause a fatality. She seriously doubted the latter though.

"So, what you're saying is, if we focus on the 'wrong' level of the subconscious, what, it could cause a disturbance permanently?" Mercedes said, and Isha nodded gravely.

Bulma's ears picked up again. "Has this ever happened?"

He glanced over. "Not from me. But, I have, a long time ago, witnessed the effects." He shifted uncomfortably, closing the note pad.

"Which were?" Mercedes urged.

"It created a state of utter madness. The patient couldn't differentiate their subconscious from reality. After a few days, closely monitored, we saw changes in the patient, changes in their personality, the way they looked, eating habits. It became much worse—"

"The odds to that must be a million to one, right? Who's to say that patient wasn't mentally stable to begin with?" Bulma said, her palms out imploringly.

Isha nodded, and pushed back a greasy slick of jet black hair behind his ear. "Yes. The patient had a history of unbalanced behaviour, a tendency to lash out on occasion …"

Bulma took a deep breath. Her confidence was wavering slightly, but it was the only thing that sounded like it could work for Vegeta. She hadn't even asked him yet. He might say no. In fact, that was the likeliest outcome (she was more than qualified to achieve this). But she'd studied solidly for over a month, as well as creating a new gravity chamber for Vegeta to work in, this time set in the lower section of the grounds, where she could easily keep an eye on him.

"You believe that it will work?" Mercedes said.

"It all depends on the patient. Minds are like snowflakes. Every single one is unique," he said, leaning back on a table.

Mercedes nodded slowly and looked to Bulma for her opinion.

Bulma blinked out of a stare and shrugged, before sticking her hand out to Dr Isha. "I'm happy to go ahead with the procedure. With your blessing, of course."

He smiled broadly and shook her hand. "As soon as you're ready."

She smiled and let go of his grasp, placing her hands firmly in her pockets, ignoring Mercedes' open mouth stare. She took a quick glance at all the scientists wondering around her lab.

Bulma wasn't the one who needed to be ready. She just hoped Vegeta would be willing to participate.

* * *

><p>It wracked her brain, like a caged animal trying to get out. Why, if the treatment was so commonly used and so successful, was she still unsure? Oh, yeah, that's right, because it was Vegeta she was dealing with. Mind you, he had been acting normal lately. Well, not normal, but normal enough, considering the way he acted a month ago. She shuddered as she flicked through her notes, hunched over her desk with the side lamp on. It was in his best interest. He had to know that.<p>

She'd gone to bed with him that night—a month ago. And had been going to bed with him ever since. It wasn't right, though.

She refused to speak to him. The way he spoke to her that night was disgusting and she promised that she wouldn't let it slip from her mind, despite how troubled he was. For the sake of her family, she slept in his bed. Her dad was furious for the first couple of weeks, but after a while, he grew to understand. Not accept, but understand. On a few occasions, while Vegeta was sleeping, she wanted to punch him to wake him up again, or just keep punching him. She couldn't inflict any pain on a Saiyan, though, so she saved herself the energy.

She'd been there before with Vegeta. There was nothing normal about their 'set-up'. Sure, she did technically want to be in bed with Vegeta, but not just to sleep without an exchanged glance, let alone a word! It felt hollow, like they were two ghosts, unable to touch or feel, and Bulma had to admit that every time she got into that bed, alone at first, her heart ached. It was bursting with sorrow, for herself and Vegeta. She hated feeling sorry for herself. It wasn't who she was—a pitiful girl.

She groaned and stashed all her notes in the drawer, uncaring for how crumpled they got, and checked her watch. Her stomach twitched when she realised that Vegeta, like clockwork, would be finishing up his training by now. If she caught him just as he was leaving the gravity room, she could have a word with him quickly, rather than wait in bed for him, only for him to be seriously pissed off from lack of sleep, and not want to answer any questions. It was worth a shot anyway.

She stripped her lab coat off and paced out the office and down the empty corridor, the same corridor that was buzzing with staff only a few hours ago. Bulma felt the pressure in her face from sleep deprivation. She'd worked so hard lately that she had little time for sleep. Maybe a quick hour or two. She'd spend all of her free time with Trunks, who was getting grumpier by the day.

At least her migraines had gone.

When she galloped down the stairs and the ground floor corridor, she came to a standstill, rehearsing how to phrase what she was going to say to him, in such a way to get him on board. She couldn't live the way she was living anymore. Even despite her presence, Vegeta was still having the nightmares, waking her up, thrashing in his sleep, drenching the bed covers. Granted, they weren't as bad as before, but still very present.

Just as she reached the gravity chamber doors, they swiped open, with Vegeta standing in the entrance, a towel draped across his shoulder, his hair moist with droplets of sweat, the gentle dampness glimmering on his bare chest.

It drove Bulma crazy. Now even more so that she was sleeping in his bed every night, without being able to touch him. She just wanted to reach out and run her hands down his chest, to the waistband of his shorts …

Her face flushed red as she came down to Earth again. Not again, Bulma. This guy doesn't deserve that kind of attention!

Vegeta grinned, her interest too obvious.

She crossed her arms and nodded back down the corridor. "Vegeta. A word, please."

The smugness was dripping off him as he paced behind her and reached her side. They both walked down the corridor.

"Well, go on. Get on with it," he said, looking at her attentively.

The feel of him watching her so closely was distracting. She would ignore his attitude for now.

"There's something I need to try with you … something I've been training to do. I think it's really going to stop your nightmares—well, I hope." She had to add the last bit, for her and for him.

Vegeta stopped walking, making Bulma follow his actions. He was staring at her, clearly interested by her proposition. Slowly, he took the towel from his shoulder and used it to dab the sweat on his forehead. Bulma took the opportunity to really look at his perfect physique. She had to bite her lip to stop from voicing her appreciation.

"What is it?" he said as he threw the damp towel back on his shoulder.

"It's a form of therapy. I've researched it, and it works."

"Forget it," he said, shaking his head as he turned to walk away.

"Vegeta." Bulma caught his wrist: a brave move that she learned to use carefully with him. He glared at the offending hand, secretly pleased with the contact.

Her skin felt freezing against his. It was pleasant.

Being in a bed with that woman had been the hardest challenge yet. His control and restraint had been impressive so far, but how long it would last was another feat completely.

"Let me try this one thing, then I swear, I'll leave you alone," she said.

He settled under her touch, but didn't want to make it clear to her. "I'm not your lab monkey."

"I know you're not." Her eyes shone with nothing but honesty.

He didn't know whether her liked that, though. It wasn't so bad having her around after all. To give her the slightest hint would show weakness, and that was all he needed after the past few months he'd had. He was a warrior. That's what he needed to show her. Maybe he'd agree with the damn thing anyway. What was the worst that could happen? "When do you plan to do this?"

Bulma physically relaxed, letting go of his wrist. He agreed. He _agreed_. She wanted to do a celebratory dance, but she'd save that for the shower, or something.

"Bulma?"

The sound of her name on his lips almost made her shiver. She snapped back to life again to see Vegeta glowering at her. He must have been itching to get away from her.

"Hm … I have the equipment all ready. I just need to gather the right staff to help me do it."

"No deal," Vegeta said, folding his arms.

"What? Why?"

"You said _you'd_ do it, so do it. I'm not having a bunch of humans doing whatever it is you plan to do me. No chance. You either do it on your own, or you can forget it." Vegeta turned around and paced down the hallway.

Bulma frowned. She'd worked so hard, but still needed the help from her fellow scientists. She needed at least three people in there with her. She couldn't do it alone … could she? Without thinking, she ran a few meters, closer to Vegeta.

"I can do it now, then," she said, almost clamping her mouth shut after. _What?_ She didn't mean to say that. It just kind of, slipped out.

She watched the muscles in his back tighten as he came to a stop. It was a bad idea. She didn't know whether she was trying to prove how capable she was to Vegeta or to herself. She was Bulma Briefs and she could do anything if she put her mind to it. It wasn't like she wasn't qualified.

It seemed like they had stood there for an hour before either spoke.

"I'm showering first," Vegeta said without turning to face her and headed upstairs.

Bulma smoothed back her hair, which resembled something of a wild creature, spun round and ran back to the lab. Now Bulma Briefs had to brief a Saiyan prince on what she planned to do with him. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

><p>The bed, similar to an operating table, was set out neatly, with all the wires from the cardiac machine ready to be placed on Vegeta. She stopped straightening the bed, like an obsessive cleaner, and went to the small metal cabinet with different labels on each drawer. She opened the top drawer, took out a tiny plastic sandwich bag and carefully, with a gloved hand and tweezers, pulled out the tiny data chip, the size of an ant, and placed it in her palm.<p>

"This better work," she mumbled.

The doors opened and Vegeta walked in, clad in a white tank top and white shorts. Bulma nodded and gestured for him to sit on the bed. He shook his head.

"I want to know what you're going to do to me first."

"I'd prefer it if you'd at least sit down. Please," she said acting nonchalance, putting her glasses on.

"I didn't know you were visually impaired." Vegeta remained stood, narrowing his eyes at this woman, who now apparently couldn't see properly. Was this a joke?

"I'm not. It's just for reading, you know, to prevent any strain, which could then give me a head ache."

"Sounds the same to me."

"Ok, so, what I plan to do tonight is a bit of hypno/aversion/cognitive behavioural therapy. It's a combination therapy, basically." She held out her palm with the tiny data chip in it. "What this is here, is a data chip I've created." Vegeta stepped closer and studied the tiny piece of plastic. "It's small, I know, but it does a lot."

_Bet Scarface used that line on her a few times_, Vegeta thought, amused by his own mind.

Bulma picked up a tool similar to a small gun and held it up so he could get a good look. "The chip will be inserted into the back of your head. It will only penetrate a few layers of skin, 'cause what it aims to do is release images while you sleep. Positive images. It reacts with your body temperature."

Vegeta frowned. He wasn't getting how any of this was meant to help. She was wasting her time. No way was she injecting him with anything.

"Basically, every time a severely negative image, or thought, occurs in your dream, causing the emotional response of fear, the chip will react, implanting a different image to try and chase the negative ones out of your head."

Bulma smiled, hopeful and wishful, as Vegeta stared at her, mouth open.

He laughed. "As if I would allow you to do that to me. I'm not some kind of android you can tinker with any time you want. I am a Saiyan. I don't need modifying."

Her eyes dropped to the floor. "It's not like that," she muttered.

"What is it like, then?" He turned his head mockingly, so he could hear her clearly.

"I'm trying to help you, Vegeta. I can't sleep in your bed, just because you have these dreams if I don't. It's not right. You know, you brag about being a Saiyan, but you have to have me sleep in your bed because you get nightmares. I dunno, Vegeta … " She turned round, threw the gun in a drawer and slammed it shut. When she turned again, Vegeta was only inches away from her, his face contorted into a deep scowl.

Bulma scowled back, unwilling to move or be defeated.

"Are you implying that I'm scared?" He said, not allowing her to speak. "Do it, then." He sat down on the bed and waited.

Bulma nodded. She was going to do it. She planned on doing it, and she was going to carry it out. "You have to trust me."

He did. He always had.

He took off his top and lay back.

Once she'd set up the equipment, injected the chip into his skin, placed the wires accordingly onto his head and torso, she touched his shoulder.

"I'm going to induce a regular sleeping pattern now, by putting you under general anesthesia. It'll be similar to when you were in the rejuvenation tank."

"Great," he said, bemused.

Vegeta opened his eyes for a moment. Bulma was tapping a large needle. He watched the dark liquid floating aimlessly in the tiny cylinder, then looked at Bulma. She looked so intense at the moment, like nothing else mattered to her. That's why he let her do it. He knew she could do whatever she wanted. She was an impressive woman. Very impressive. His eyes fell down to the surprisingly low cut top she had on. She caught his stare and took his hand in hers. He looked at the ceiling while she worked, feeling the strange substance enter his arm and creep through his body.

"Ok, and this one," she said producing another needle, "is going to make you feel really heavy now." She stood up, checked the cardiac monitor, and then Vegeta, who was still staring at the ceiling. "Since you're a Saiyan, I've had to up the dose by a touch. You can count to ten if you want."

He reached nine before he fell, his mind clouding over into utter darkness, just the way he liked it.

As soon as he was under, Bulma left the room and sat behind a two way mirror, monitoring his slow, peaceful breathing, keeping a constant check on his heart rate. She did this for half an hour, starting to feel like it had all been a waste of time, until Vegeta's heart rate began to quicken, only a flicker. At first she didn't move, staring at his lifeless looking form. He started to twitch. First his fingers, then his legs, before his head started twisting from side to side. Suddenly, his body heaved forward, enough as it could under the restraints Bulma had put him under, but even they were coming loose.

It was like he was possessed.

Bulma stood up, biting her nails, waiting for him to calm, wishing for him to calm. By now the chip should have worked. Why wasn't it working?

The oxygen mask flew off his face and cracked on the floor, as he threw his arms in the air. Bulma ran into the lab, expecting him to awaken, but he continued to be tortured in his subconscious.

Maybe the image wasn't strong enough. Oh God. Bulma rummaged through the draws for something to wake him up, a boost or shot of some kind, but when Vegeta started to scream, she couldn't do anything but watch in horror. What had she done?

She sank to the floor, powerless, shouting his name but to no avail. Who was she kidding? She couldn't manipulate someone's subconscious. She didn't have that kind of power.

She closed her eyes, only wishing for him to eventually stop, when she heard the lab doors slide open, and footsteps running towards her. She looked up, peeling her hands away from her face.

It was Bunny, holding a hysterical Trunks.

"Bulma, I think he wants his mommy. He's been like this for half an hour or so, and I can't get him to settle. Honey, you take him."

Bulma shot up. "Mom! You shouldn't be in here." She looked at Trunks who was yelping. Her stomach tied into thousands of knots.

"Sorry, dear," Bunny shouted over all the screaming.

"Da-daaaaa," Trunks wailed repeatedly, pointing at Vegeta, as Bunny handed him over to Bulma.

"It's not safe in here—"

"Da-daaaaaa," Trunks sniffled and calmed, and to Bulma's amazement, so did Vegeta.

Bulma watched in awe as Trunks continued to say 'da-da' over and over, but now quietly, and as he did so, Vegeta sank into a more peaceful state.

"Oh my." Bunny gasped.

"Mom, you saw that, right?" Bulma spun around to her mother. "I'm not imagining what just happened?"

Bunny beamed.

Holding Trunks out at arms-length, Bulma couldn't stop smiling. "My little man just solved a big puzzle for mommy and daddy."

Trunks clapped.

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><p>A week had passed since the therapy with Vegeta, and Bulma knew exactly what to do. It was Trunks' calling to his father, that made Vegeta calm down, perhaps pulled him away from whatever dark dream he was having. She just needed to implant different information into Vegeta's head. Some images of Trunks. She smiled as she placed the newly completed chip into a sealed container.<p>

Vegeta allowed her to remove the old chip instantly. He hated it and was trying to scratch it out himself; if she'd left him any longer, he probably would have succeeded.

"All done?" Mercedes said, standing immediately behind Bulma.

Bulma flinched. That girl didn't know a thing about personal space. "Yeah."

"Good. Do you mind if I viewed the next session? I mean, I did coordinate the entire idea." She cocked an eyebrow.

Mercedes was right, obviously, but how could she explain to her that Vegeta wouldn't allow it. It wasn't that simple. She couldn't just say, 'No, because he'll kill you,' which he would. Bulma was grasping at straws.

"Of course. The first one was just a test to see if Vegeta was compatible."

"Still. I should've been there."

"I know, and you will be," Bulma said, looking off to the side.

She needed a break. Thankfully, she'd planned to take Trunks to the park today, so at least she'd have some time to get out and get some fresh air in her lungs, instead of recycled air conditioned stuff.

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><p>As Bulma walked through West City park, pushing Trunks in his pushchair, she remembered what future Trunks has told her. Apparently during the Cell games, Vegeta had flipped out after seeing Trunks knocked unconscious. It still made her smile. Vegeta may come across as cold-hearted but he was far from it. He definitely held affection for his son, whether he showed it or not didn't matter, because she knew.<p>

The late summer wind blew softly through Bulma's hair as she walked across a gravelled path towards a big pond. There were ducks and huge carp in the water and Trunks loved to gaze as them. The park was busy, but not bustling, so it was quite relaxing to just watch the world go by for once. She sighed happily.

"Bulma Briefs? Shit. I told you it was her."

"She looks hotter in real life"

"I definitely would. I don't care if she has a kid."

Red-faced from a mixture of anger and embarrassment, Bulma turned to get a look at the loud-mouthed morons standing behind her. It was a group of three men, well, teenagers, all around the age of seventeen, snickering and pointing at her, as if she wasn't even there. One came over. The taller of the three and actually quite attractive. He had spikey black hair, dark brown eyes, tanned skin … It was a warm day, so boys liked to walk around shirtless, regardless of it being completely unnecessary. He looked all too similar, but dissimilar.

"Miss Briefs," he said, rather formally as he sauntered over.

She narrowed her eyes. Trunks was talking in tongue in his pram, but he seemed content enough.

"Can I help you?"

"Nah, I was just wondering why you were out here on your own. You need a man by you side," he flashed a perfect white grin.

Bulma snorted. "Well, when you find one, come and get me, OK?" It was jokey, but still carried a sharp undertone.

"So you're not with the dad of your kid?" He said, bluntly.

Bulma cocked her head. Was this kid seriously asking her that? "That's none of your business," she said in a dismayed, and decided to take herself away from the situation.

"Where you going?"

"I've come to spend some time with my son, so can you go away?" She pushed Trunks' away from the three guys.

"Pshh. I didn't know she was such a _bitch_."

"She's not even with the father."

"She probably doesn't even know who he is …"

Bulma stood stock still, fury overwhelming her at a rapid rate. What? Is that what people thought of her. She gripped tight hold of the pushchair handles and stared at her whitening knuckles, until they started to hurt. She needed to hit something, or someone. You know what? That was exactly what she was going to do.

"Trunks, whatever you witness now, this is not your mommy. This is someone else, OK?" she said as she spun the chair round and charged towards the three guys.

"Hey. What did you say?" she said to the tallest one, who turned round with a vacant expression. "For your information, buddy, I _do _know who my child's father is, but what the _hell_ is that to you?" Spittle flew out of her mouth, she was so furious.

The boy retreated a few steps, his friends not cajoling him anymore, rather their eyes widened in horror.

"I'm sick of men like you, walking around with your shirt off thinking your God's gift to women. Well, here's a message from every woman out there—YOU'RE NOT. You obviously have a dick like a shrivelled walnut," she said and smirked. One image flashed through her mind the entire time. She wanted to be screaming this at someone else, but this boy was getting it instead.

The boy's face went from vague humour to complete outrage in a split second. "I bet you'd love to find out, though."

People started to gather around, but Bulma couldn't care less. She'd had enough of this prick and his cronies. Something inside Bulma's head snapped. Physical violence was the only solution.

"Oh, you know what? Fuck you," she said and threw a right hook, smacking the guy right in mouth.

He looked stunned for a moment, and slowly felt his mouth as it throbbed and split. Bulma shook her hand from connecting with his face. Shit, it felt so good, though. She wanted to hit him again. A few people in the crowd cheered, as well as Trunks whose eyes were nearly popping out of his skull.

It suddenly dawned on her. She'd just punched a teenager in the face, while a bunch of people watched. That's assault, right?

"Hit him again," a woman with a child in a pram shouted.

The guy's eyes shifted from everyone who was watching and over to Bulma. He'd never felt so ashamed in his life.

His friends pulled him back, but his eyes looked crazed. He pointed at Bulma. "Lady, you are crazy …"

They walked away, while the small gathering of people cheered and booed, sticking their thumbs down to the group of boys. It had all happened so fast, it left Bulma in a daze.

She felt slightly empowered, like an enormous weight had been toppled from her shoulders. She hoped Trunks didn't take any mental notes from her outburst.

Coyly, she muttered that 'they deserved it' and 'she only hit him lightly, he barely had a scratch' as she passed by the people, wanting nothing more than to run home and seriously think about what she'd done. It worried her, because everything she said to that boy was all the things she wanted to say to Vegeta, and Vegeta definitely deserved a punch to the face. Multiple punches to the face, in fact.

Homebound, she took herself and Trunks far away from the park. Her relaxing trip was never meant to go like that, at all.

* * *

><p>Somehow, she'd expected a phone call from the police, asking her to go down to the station for suspected assault, but it was ten pm and she'd heard nothing. The guy probably lied, made a pact with his buddies to deny what had happened. He'd say to his friends that he got mauled by a land roaming shark, and wrestled the beast to death. God forbid he ever admits that he got his ass handed to him by a woman. Bulma felt a tad disappointed. She wanted some recognition, for every woman out there … She envisioned herself standing on top of a mountain wielding a giant flag with a picture of male genitals with a big, fat cross over them.<p>

She spooned the last quarter of pancakes into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully, allowing the sweet maple syrup to soak into her taste buds. Yeah, she would be an awesome feminist warrior. She wondered what the female Saiyans were like, and whether she would share some of their qualities. She sighed as she chewed, sitting alone in the dark of the kitchen. Her parents were watching TV in their room (she hoped) and Trunks was fast to sleep, which was expected from the day he'd had. She couldn't sleep, though. Too much on her mind for sleep.

Maybe Gohan could teach her to fly someday …

Footsteps pounded down the hallway and she didn't have to think twice about whom they belonged to. She watched the doorway until he appeared, his eyes widening just a touch when he saw her.

"Good evening, Vegeta. Have fun training?" She spun her fork round in the air.

"I never have fun training." He walked over to the fridge and took out a bottle of whiskey.

Bulma dropped her fork. Where the hell was he getting that stuff from? Was he seriously going out to buy it himself? She bet it was her mom. Bunny would do anything for Vegeta, despite him scaring the shit out of her lately. Her mother was such an enigma.

"You're loving that whiskey lately," she said, as Vegeta grabbed a tumbler out of the cupboard.

Sheesh, you'd think he owned the place.

He poured the glass half full, and gulped it down in one.

Bulma pushed her plate aside. "You not gonna share?" She hadn't had a drink in ages. Besdies, it was her house, her free time and she could spend it how she wanted. Gosh, punching that guy had sure made her think clearly about certain things.

He looked at the bottle, then shrugged, and slid it across the breakfast bar to her.

_See_, she thought. _You ask, you get_.

"And a glass?" she said expectantly.

"Ch." He chucked her a glass, which she caught. Thank God.

As she poured, she was curious to find why Vegeta was still standing there, watching. "I need you to come back for another try of therapy." She screwed the lid back on the bottle.

"I'm not doing that again," he came over and sat on the opposite side of the bar.

"I've found a way that will work."

"I don't care. I don't want the blasted therapy," he grabbed the bottle and poured another round.

"Don't be such a baby. It'll take an hour out of your precious day. What's so bad about that?"

He stared at her over the rim of the glass as he drank, letting it burn down his throat. Was she crazy? His nightmare may have subsided the last time, but it was still a fucking horrendous experience. He wasn't going through that again.

Bulma finished her round. "I'll convince you, somehow." She eyed him for a second. She could see he was sporting the lack of top tonight as well. Not that she was complaining, but it brought back the images of that guy from the park. She didn't even know his name, despite her knuckles being imprinted on his face. She grinned. "I can be persuasive, you know."

Vegeta took another slug, ignoring the comment.

She brought her knees up to her chest and rocked back on the chair. Vegeta caught a glimpse of her purple panties from beneath her night gown and his face suddenly felt a bit warmer. Damn alcohol. He pushed the nearly empty bottle away from him, and sat there listening to the fridge humming.

"I punched a guy in the face today," she said, coming forward into the table.

This caught Vegeta's attention.

Bulma frowned. "It was his own fault. Harassing women."

Vegeta grunted indignantly. "So you just punched him?" He never thought he'd ever have to ask a reason for punching someone. There was always a good reason. Always.

"Yeah. The guy was a jerk. Thought he was like Kami, or something … dick."

"Ha. Humans …" Vegeta mused quietly to himself. "Did you leave a mark?" His attraction to Bulma was nearly hitting the roof as it was. This was just topping it completely. Her eyes lit up when she told him.

"Oh, yeah. Got him right in the kisser. It was a little embarrassing." She looked at her hands stretched out on the table.

"What? I would have booted him up to Namek, traveled there to find him, and boot him right back down to Earth again …" he said and frowned after he realised how Bulma might have taken that.

She smiled. "Pass me another drink." And nodded towards the bottle.

He poured them both another, wanting to find out more about this fight.

"That's all that happened. I just saw red. It's all the anger that's been built up over the last year!" She laughed and then stopped, coughing before taking a mouthful.

She gulped.

"Are you sure I can't persuade you into therapy again?"

"No," he said, placing the empty glass on the table. His head began to feel a bit fuzzy, but it was OK.

Bulma clucked her tongue. She better come out with it, plus, the alcohol was starting to get her buzzed, hence giving her more confidence. Vegeta knew how she felt, so she didn't need to dive into that pool again, but the whole bed situation, it wasn't going to fly anymore. It wasn't going to carry on.

"I can't keep sleeping in your bed, Vegeta. It's not fair. It's not fair on both of us. I know it's helping you, but it's not helping me at all. It sounds selfish, I know, but I won't do it anymore. I'm sorry."

He looked dumbfounded, so she continued. She leaned across the table, eager to share her plan.

"This therapy will give you want you want. You'll be able to sleep properly, in peace and quiet, on your own." She looked at him from beneath her eyelashes, thinking that she needed another round.

He pushed his fingers through his thick hair. He had a very important decision to make, but nothing had pushed him towards it so much as Bulma did lately. He was confident that this was what he would do. It might not have been the right thing to do, but it was what he wanted. He wasn't one for apologising, but he felt like he owed it to Bulma. He would never settle for saying sorry, though. He didn't believe in such a word that could get thrown around so easily, with very little meaning. It was hollow.

He stood up. "I'll do it, then."

Bulma waited for him to do the usual disappearing act. But he didn't. He walked over to her side of the table, and looked down at her. She felt her entire body tense as his gaze penetrated her own unrelenting stare.

"I want you in my bed … regardless of this treatment."

Bulma forgot how to breathe for a moment, and when he gently brought his hand up to her face and stroked it so tenderly, she almost died.

She came to her senses and pulled his hand away slowly, before things got complicated again. "I'm not playing this game anymore, Vegeta. You want me now, while it suits you, but tomorrow you won't think twice about me." She wasn't falling for that trick again.

Vegeta looked wounded. "Bulma, I want you in my bed every night." His face softened. The crease in his brow faded and he looked at Bulma with nothing but compassion.

Despite having this person in front of her now, she couldn't see past the way he had treated her, the things he'd said, the way he'd disregarded her. She wasn't a love sick puppy. She was a grown woman. A powerful, beautiful, clever woman, who had everything she could ever want. Until Vegeta came swaggering into her life, she would have considered it perfect. Sure, the Yamcha situation wasn't ideal, but creases can be ironed out. No matter how much she steamed the creases with Vegeta, they just wouldn't budge.

Bulma felt overwhelmed with a range of emotions, as Vegeta gazed at her. All she could think of was the boy from the park earlier. The way he talked to her, for a mere few seconds, and how angry she became, yet Vegeta had spoken to her like that a dozen times and left without a scratch.

A panic surged through her suddenly, and before she could stop herself, her hand was tingling with pain from connecting with Vegeta's face. She shot up from the bar stool, guarded with more ammunition, and eyeballed Vegeta.

His reaction was sluggish at first, his hand reaching up to feel his cheek, his face void of any expression other than indifference.

She couldn't have hurt him. He was a Saiyan. She was human.

She slapped him again, hard. She could've hit him all night, but It wouldn't stop the feeling of disappointment-in herself and him, for getting into their situation. Trunks was an absolute blessing, but the rest of it was a mess.

Bulma's eyes were wide like a wild tigress, while Vegeta's mouth opened slightly. Maybe he was about to talk, but Bulma just didn't have the time for it. She wasn't going to let him simply say two words to her, then she'd melt into his arms. Was he forgetting who he was dealing with?

"You say you want me, huh?" She crossed her arms.

He _really _did now. The fury was emanating off her. He'd never seen a female so hot in his entire life. This was the woman he gave into the first time. He had to fight the fact that she'd just smacked him. Anyone else, and they would be dead right now.

"Prove it," she said, and stormed out, her head swirling too much. She had to lie down. Alone.

Vegeta's steadiness faltered at touch and he held onto the breakfast bar for support. It was a mixture of the alcohol and what had just happened. He was not going to play games with this woman, but if she was willing to put up a fight, then he was more than happy to challenge.

* * *

><p><strong>AN - Bulma has set Vegeta a challenge. He's willing to accept, but what will he do to get her on his side? Do you think he deserves another chance?**

**I'm going to set this story into two parts. Part two is going to be a lot more easy-going and fun (and naughty), but still have a level of emotion in it, of course**. Chapter 12 is the beginning of part two :D


	12. Dress to Impress

Igniting the Fire – PART TWO

Chapter 12

Who the _fuck_ was that?

He peered through the glass and into the gym area, where a few others were lifting stupidly light weights, making sounds like they were about to climax. He'd just come from a five hour training session—cut short because he was famished—and felt Bulma's ki flickering at quite an alarming rate. Thinking she was in extensive pain, he ran, no, _walked_, to where her energy was located, and to his utter distaste, saw _this_.

He had to wipe the condensation he was making from the glass to get a better view. And at first he hoped that when he wiped away that, he would also erase the image before him, but no. They were still there. Bulma and that _Earthling_. He narrowed his eyes as he watched Bulma doing crunches, the sweat covering almost her entire body, her chest rising and falling, making her breasts almost burst out of a very tight top. Vegeta felt a twitch in his nether regions. No, stop looking at her … if you don't look at her, you won't have to experience these _feelings_.

And a hard-on.

That wasn't the problem, though. Oh, no. It was the Earthling she was with – coaxing her, berating her, clamping his fist into his hand every time she wavered. No one should be speaking to her like that. Who was he anyway? This was the first time he'd seen him. And what was he doing telling _his_ woman what to do-

Vegeta's frown deepened. Where did that thought come from? He didn't mean to think that. It just slipped out. Fuck.

He shook his head in the hope that it would physically shake the thought away, when he saw something that made his blood boil. The man got on his hands and knees and positioned himself in-between Bulma's thighs, and every time she completed a crunch, her face was barely inches away from his. Vegeta, gripping the handle of the door, poised to go in there and rip the guy to shreds, when both Bulma and the dumb, fucking weakling of a male turned their heads to look right at him.

Vegeta's mouth opened slightly. Shit, he needed to flee without it looking too obvious. He wasn't watching her. It just happened that he was walking back and she was in the same direction, minus a flight of stairs and a few extra turns down a corridor. He saw a small smudge on the window and, without knowing any other way to pull this off, he pressed his thumb on the smudge and tried to wipe it off, before looking at the dirt on his thumb, shaking his head and stalking off down the hall.

That worked quite well. They didn't suspect a thing.

There was a nagging feeling in the back of his head, trying to reel him back down the hall and rip that idiot's throat out. He blinked hard—like it would help—and continued down the hall. He would eat. Yes, eating would curb the want to kill. For a small while, anyway. Then he would train again. He could feel himself getting better again. Growing and getting stronger. To him, that, and his son, should be all that mattered right now, but that blasted woman was playing on his mind whenever he let himself get distracted. He looked down at himself, at the situation he'd got himself into just by looking at her. This was getting fucking ridiculous.

He had to get rid of it, quickly.

He stepped into the nearest room, which was a bathroom—how many bathrooms did these people need? There was no energy source close by, so, nonchalantly, he closed the door behind him, and got to work.

Bulma lifted herself up on to her elbows, forcing Eduardo to sit back on his heels. She couldn't help the grin that spread across her face. Vegeta was paying a lot of attention to her lately, as subtle as it was. She kept catching him watching her, which might have seemed pretty harmless, but it was always in the most unexpected places. At this side of the Capsule Corp building there was a large communal gathering of humans day-to-day, using the gym, the spa and the admin offices. To see Vegeta around this area was a total surprise. Usually he wouldn't be caught dead around here, which begged Bulma to question, why he was doing it?

It was totally obvious, but really, he didn't think she wouldn't notice, did he?

She wiped the sweat from her forehead. Eduardo stood up, held a hand out to her, which she took it eagerly, and hauled her to her feet. She laughed as she nearly fell forward into his arms.

"You've done a super job today, Bulma. You're so gonna fit into that dress tomorrow; not that you wouldn't have anyway," he said and rolled his eyes.

Bulma grabbed a bottle of water from the window ledge and slugged half of the contents. She sighed happily. "Hey, a girl has to stay in shape. I don't stay like this naturally," she said, addressing the length of her body.

"Hey, you're talking to your trainer, here. I think I know what I'm talking about," he said mockingly, then lifted up his t-shirt, displaying his amazing, muscle-rippled stomach.

Bulma gazed in awe. It was pretty good. How good could a six pack look, though? She couldn't help but think of Vegeta, standing before her, shirtless, and the look of his stomach. So much more appealing. Saiyans were just so much … bigger than humans. Bulma sighed inwardly. Just because Vegeta was showing her a bit of attention didn't mean she had to go all gooey for him. She'd play it cool. Besides, she had bigger fish to fry. Like the annual Capsule Corp appreciation ceremony, except this year was celebrating the corporation's thirtieth year, and her dad was being given an award for his work over the years. Her dad was so humble about the whole thing he was astonished that he was being given an award. He was too modest. The work he'd done was fantastic. Capsule Corp was everywhere these days, making millions every second of the day. Her dad did that. Of course he deserved an award.

"So, same time on Sunday?" Bulma said, draping a cool towel over her shoulders. Oh, it felt so good. A slight waft of body odour crept into her nostrils and she wrinkled her nose. She needed a shower, pronto!

Eduardo nodded. "You bet. I want three hundred crunches next time." He winked as Bulma shook her head gravely.

"Yeah, keep dreaming," and she left, waving as she walked through the doorway out into the corridor, then heaved a sigh of relief. That guy was working her way too hard. He was a diamond, but seriously, three hundred? She was barely able to reach two hundred, and she'd been doing them for years. When her mother recommended Eduardo as a personal trainer, she happily agreed, but if she'd known how serious he could get, she would've reconsidered. He was like Jekyll and Hyde.

She reached the closest bathroom, tried the door handle, but it was locked. That's strange. No one, apart from herself, ever used this bathroom. She rapped on the door a couple of times, waited for a few seconds, and got no response. She'd leave it. Either the door had locked by itself or someone in there—probably an employee—was doing a numero dos and was too embarrassed to confess. She'd been there before and knew the humiliation it could cause, so she felt some sympathy for the guy … or girl. Whoever it was. It didn't matter. She happily walked across the building to the living quarters where she could comfortably get in her own shower.

Only seconds later, the bathroom door that was locked, opened, and Vegeta casually strolled out in the opposite direction. That was _too_ close.

* * *

><p>Bunny shoved a tray of biscuits onto Bulma's lap. Bulma started and gripped onto the phone, which nearly flew across the living room, and gave her mom an incredulous look. Didn't she know she was engrossed in a conversation with Chichi. She <em>did <em>tell her.

"No, no, Chichi, it's fine, honestly," she said, rolling her eyes as well as placing the biscuits on the coffee table, out of reach of Trunks, who's eyes were already eating them. "Uh-huh … uh-huh. No, I don't expect you to." Bulma inspected her nails. "I think he needs some quality bonding time with Trunks. It'll do them both good."

She paused for a long time, then frowned deeply. "Of course I can trust him. Listen, I know he can act out sometimes, but he wouldn't do anything to his own son." She paused again, barricading Trunks with her forearm. He would jump across to that table if she'd let him. He had to learn that no, meant no. She shook her head at him and mouthed 'no', but he just grinned and mouthed 'yes', which was more of a 'ah'. "No, I've talked it over with my dad. He's not over the moon about it, y'know, after what happened, but Vegeta is still Trunks' father and he has to show it. In fact, I'm gonna go ask him right now … Yeah, uh-huh. Speak to you later, Chichi." She put the phone down and sighed. That woman could talk, alright.

"Mom, why are you trying to give me biscuits at half nine in the morning?" she said, grabbing one and cramming it into her mouth, while Trunks gawped. She broke off half and handed it to him. That'll keep him quiet for a bit.

Right, she had to get Vegeta. She knew exactly where he was. She picked up Trunks, who dropped his biscuit, and went to find him. Sure, it was a bit late to ask him, seeing as the ceremony was tonight, but she didn't know what else to do. Trunks happily sucked on a tress of Bulma's hair as she trudged to the other side of the building, down the stairs and through the longest corridor ever imagined. Finally, she reached the gravity room and spoke through the intercom. "Vegeta. It's Bulma. Can I just have a quick word?" She waited, shifting Trunks in her arms. He was getting so heavy these days. She pressed the button again. "Vegeta? Vegetaaaaa. Hey, Vegeta? It'll take a second, promise."

She started when the gravity room doors parted and Vegeta was stood there scowling and sweating all over the place. Keep eye contact, Bulma. Do not, for a second, look at his abs or skin-tight shorts. Don't!

"I need to ask a favour." Technically, he did owe her. That chip in the back of his head had worked amazingly well. He was sleeping on his own every night, there was no disturbances, at all, everyone got a good night sleep, Vegeta could go about his day training and keeping himself occupied without becoming murderous, and he was acting quite … normal. Could she say normal? Maybe normal wasn't the right word. He wasn't acting out anymore, anyway. The chip was bio-degradable, so in a year it would dissolve, and by that time, Vegeta's subconscious would routinely deal with any negative thoughts by itself.

He was focused, and right now he was focusing a little too much on her breasts.

She coughed.

His gaze shifted to Trunks, who was now staring at him.

"Da-da," Trunks muttered, and Vegeta nodded ever so slightly.

Bulma's heart bloomed with adoration, then she quickly remembered what she'd come to ask. "Yeah, as I was saying. I need to ask you a favour."

"Which is?" he said, his gruff tone reverberating through the halls. He still wanted to ask her about that man who practically had his head shoved between her legs yesterday, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Something about that image brought up a horrid sensation in his stomach. Fucking feelings.

"Can you watch Trunks tonight? I have to go to this awards ceremony, for my dad, and I need someone to mind Trunks. I thought you could do it, being his father and all." She brushed a piece of lilac hair off Trunks' forehead.

Vegeta stilled for ages. "Can't the old wench do it?"

Bulma shot daggers at him. "Are you talking about my _mother_ by any chance? And no, she's coming too. C'mon Vegeta, it's only for a couple hours, tops. All you have to do is give him his baby food, then put him to bed. He's really good, aren't you Trunksie." He _did _ like a bedtime story as well. Like _that _was ever going to happen. Bulma had to hold in a giggle at the thought of Vegeta reading humpty dumpty to Trunks.

Vegeta recoiled in horror. That was _not_ his son's name. "Don't call my son that."

"He likes it, don't you, Trunksie."

Trunks looked at Vegeta, unsure of whether to revel in the attention his mother was giving him, or play it cool in front of his father.

"He clearly doesn't. Look at him."

Bulma frowned. "Well, he usually does. Oh well. So, will you? _Please_?" She blinked a couple times, purposely fluttering her eyelashes at him.

Vegeta crossed his arms. It couldn't be that hard to watch the boy. Like she said. Feed him, then put him to bed. He could fit in some training around that. Easily. Maybe if he did watch the boy, it might earn him some points. Not that he was … oh, to hell with it. "Fine, I'll do it, if you leave me alone. Can't I get any training done without you interrupting me every five minutes?"

Bulma arched an eyebrow. She'd 'interrupted' him twice in the last month. Maybe three times. Who was he kidding? Secretly, she was giddy with the way he was behaving. "Thanks Vegeta," she said and turned on her heels. "I'll bring him to you at seven, OK? I owe you one."

Seven? _Seven? _Before he could protest, she was off, skipping down the hall like a child.

He cracked his neck, side to side, a few times, allowing the realisation of what he'd just agreed to to sink in, slowly. Was it really worth all this hassle?

* * *

><p>Bulma was blue in the face as Bunny zipped up the back of her dress. It fit her last week in the store, so it would fit her now. It had to. She huffed.<p>

"I told you we shouldn't have eaten that spaghetti Bolognese before," she said, pulling the dress up at her chest.

Maybe it was a bit too much? It was a smart dress, or so she thought when she tried it on. It was like a LBD, but in midnight blue. It was a little on the short side, but she'd worked damn hard to get into it, and she _would_ wear it.

Bulma jolted when Bunny suddenly zipped it to the top, pinching the skin on her back in the process. "Oh my God. Unzip it a bit. Ow, ow, ow." She fruitlessly felt for the zip herself.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Bulma. At least it zips up now." She smiled her dazed, half-asleep smile.

"Yeah, but it's took a chunk of my skin off."

"Don't be silly. You're fine."

Maybe she was overreacting. It didn't hurt that much. She was just concerned about Vegeta watching Trunks. She checked her phone. "It's half seven, already? Mom, we have to be there by eight."

Bunny shook her head. "Don't worry, dear, we've got plenty of time."

She looked at Trunks sitting on her bed, staring at the Teletubbies on the TV. Vegeta would be waiting for him. No, he wouldn't. In fact, that selfish idiot was probably still training and had forgotten about the whole thing. She straightened her dress out, and flicked her curls off her shoulder-so Trunks couldn't chew them—and picked up Trunks.

"I'm just going to find Vegeta and make sure he knows what to do," she said to Bunny.

"Bulma, Vegeta will know what to do."

"Hm. I won't be a minute." She grabbed her clutch purse and marched out the room.

The first place she checked was the gravity room, but he wasn't there. The panic started to set in as she rambled up the stairs again, at a slight loss of breath, to his bedroom, where she didn't knock on the door before nearly collapsing in.

Vegeta was sat on the bed, legs outstretched, watching something gore-filled on the TV. He meant to cast a nonchalant glance but when he saw Bulma, his eyes couldn't see anything else. She was … he didn't even know, but he wanted nothing more than to ravish her right there, right now. He felt the all too familiar twitch in his pants, and had to tear his eyes away and look back at the screen. Surely the weaklings dying on the screen would help subside his arousal.

She paced over. He wanted to jump out of the window and find a cold lake.

"Ok, so, you know what to do, right?"

He didn't answer.

"Hey, Saiyan?" She snapped her fingers in front of his eyes.

"There isn't anything to do," he said, looking everywhere but her breasts.

Bulma placed Trunks on the bed next to Vegeta.

Vegeta barely glanced at the boy.

"Yes, there is. You might need to change him, so all the diapers are in the utility down the hall."

"I'm not fucking doing that," he grimaced and frowned at Trunks, who's eyes widened.

"Don't swear in front of Trunks! And yes, if he needs changing you'll have to do it. He'll get tired pretty quickly after he's eaten, so he should be no problem."

"Fucking right, I won't."

"_Vegeta_," she said, and rummaged through her clutch purse.

He took the time to get a good look at her. Christ, she looked appealing in that dress. Shit, no, don't think about that, especially not when the boy was around.

"Right," she said, thrusting a small device at him.

He looked at it blankly. "What is this?"

"It's a cell phone. I want you to call me if anything happens." She frowned, concern etched on her face.

He pushed the phone aside. "Nothing is going to happen. I'll drag you back here myself if I need to. I don't need this."

"Take it Vegeta, for me, please." Her eyes widened imploringly and she jabbed him in the arm with the phone.

"I'm not going to use it," he warned.

She sighed. "Ok, if you're not going to _ring_ me, text me to let me know everything is fine." His brows knitted close together and his nostrils flared when she sat on the bed next to him. "Look, I'll show you how to do it."

She was engrossed in the device and all he could do was look at her, her hair, her legs, her neck, her chest. He was going to go mad.

"Just go to the home screen, then message, then 'new message', and use these keys to type it. You've been on a computer before?" She looked up.

His eyes were completely focused on her, like nothing else was going on, like Trunks wasn't sitting on the bed chewing one of Vegeta's gloves. Everything slowed down, and Bulma's breath got caught in her throat. He was looking with such intensity it made her feel self-conscious and very aware of what she had on. She pulled her hair forward so it draped down the left side of her chest.

"If you've used … a computer … before." She gulped. Compose yourself, Bulma. "It's just like that. Cell phones these days, eh?" She laughed nervously and got to her feet. "Anyway, Trunks, be good for daddy, now, OK?" She gave Trunks an encouraging smile, and his mouth dropped open, letting go of the chewed glove, like he'd been caught in the act. She awkwardly pulled her dress down at the bottom so it wasn't right up her ass as she walked out. "Remember, Vegeta, _one text_. I'll, er … be back in a few hours."

She sauntered out the room. The only thing that appealed to her at that moment was a cold bath. Not an award ceremony. Why did Vegeta make her act like a nervous teenager? It was so stupid. She'd been doing so well, and then WHAM, she got all caught up in the moment. Well, not as caught up as she'd liked to have been, but the whole butterflies in the stomach, world stopping stare, dramatic connection thing definitely happened in that room.

She checked her phone again. _Shit_. It was ten to eight and she hadn't even put her shoes on.

* * *

><p>No new messages.<p>

Not a single text. From anyone.

The ceremony had been and gone, now everyone was congregating around the bar, getting drinks, some of the guests were dancing where there was enough floor space, while others remained seated, talking and laughing. All the while Bulma was sat on her own, a glass of red wine with a drop left next to her, checking her phone because it had been almost two hours and Vegeta had yet to text.

Breathe.

Everything was fine. No need to panic.

She twiddled with the stem of the glass and let her eyes roam around the room to see all the happy faces. Her dad was the life and soul of the party, so she couldn't speak to him, and her mom was busy talking to some of the wives from other branches, including South city and East city.

"Bulma, you remember Philippe, don't you?"

The voice of her father boomed down her ear over the music from the live jazz band. She wore a smile and looked towards the tall, tanned man with eyes so brown they looked like dark chocolate. She was momentarily distracted. "Oh, hi," she said, offering him her hand.

"Yes, well," Dr Briefs continued, "He's gained the position of company director of the North city branch. Isn't that fantastic?"

"Yes. Congratulations." She smiled again.

Philippe, dressed in a crisp Versace suit, smiled knowingly. "I wouldn't have been able to do it without your father, of course."

"Nawh. Let's not be modest," Dr Briefs said, followed by a chuckle. "Anyway, I best get on. People to talk to. I have new ideas to discuss." And he meandered through the gathering of people.

The room seemed to close in on itself all of a sudden, leaving only Bulma and Phillipe: a man she only knew briefly and hadn't seen in over a year. It was as if her father had done that on purpose. He wasn't a fan of Vegeta at the moment, so the action didn't seem surprising in the slightest.

"I must say, Bulma, you are looking beautiful this evening," Phillipe said, and kissed her hand.

She blushed, slowly pulling her hand away. She had grown unaccustomed to direct compliments. It wasn't like when she was younger, when they used to come flooding in. What was she doing spending too much time focusing on Vegeta, when there were guys like Phillipe, who called her _beautiful_? Philippe was right, of course. She needed to hear it more often, like every day.

Maybe she shouldn't have had that second glass of wine. She wouldn't have any more.

"Can I get you a drink—"

"Yes. I mean, yes, please."

Ok, maybe one more wouldn't hurt.

Back at Capsule Corp, Vegeta was looking through the fridge for something to feed his son. That damn woman didn't tell him where the food was kept. How was he supposed to know? This had been nothing but a disaster from the start. The boy shit his pants the second that woman left the fucking house, so he was left to deal with it. He was so distracted by that woman and her feminine powers that he didn't listen to a word she was saying, hence did not have a clue where clean diapers were. In the end he had to use a face towel. Someone else would clean it, so he wasn't arsed.

A drop of sweat fell between his eyebrows. How the hell did she do it?

Trunks was babbling to himself, louder and louder.

"Will you shut up? Shut up for one blasted minute."

Trunks stopped immediately and frowned.

"Good. Now where the hell—" His hand landed on a bowl labelled 'Trunks' dinner'. "What the hell is this?"

It was some sort of green substance, like Namekian vomit. He was not giving his son Namekian vomit. Fuck that. He pushed the jar aside in search of something a little more appetising. When he was a young Saiyan, he was eating raw meat.

He stormed over to Trunks, who was sitting on the tiled floor, knelt down, held his chin and pulled back his lips. The boy didn't struggle at all. Trunks had a full set of teeth now. Granted, they were small, but if he had teeth, he could chew. Oh, yes, Vegeta discovered Trunks could chew, to his dismay, after finding one of his gloves chewed and left at the end of his bed.

He'd get a new one.

For now, he had to feed the brat. His eyes landed on a slab of gammon from the day before. Yes, that would do nicely. He cut a large portion of, dumped it in a plate and put it in front of Trunks. Trunks stared at it, poked it a bit, then stuck his tongue out very slowly to lick it. He recoiled at first, unsure of the tangy taste.

"Eat," Vegeta said, and bit a chunk off his own slab.

As soon as he saw Vegeta doing it, he copied, chewing with his mouth open and clapping his hands. Vegeta couldn't help feel a tiny swell of pride in his chest, but soon concluded that it was heart burn.

* * *

><p>As soon as the fast-paced jazz music switched to slower, sensual sounds, Bulma felt the urge to get up and dance. There was still no word from Vegeta, leaving her hopeless. She'd been listening to Philippe talking about all his ideas for an hour and honestly, she hadn't heard a word. Sometimes she stopped looking around the room to look at his perfect mouth—those lips were amazing—before coming back to Earth again and nodding at whatever he was saying. She stopped after her third glass of wine, because when she stood up to go the bathroom earlier, she nearly went flying over her own feet.<p>

Philippe was busy saying something about merging, which she was avoiding anyway, when she lazily stood up. "Dance with me."

He stopped, slightly aghast, but then smiled. "Of course." And took her hand, walking her to the tiny bit of floor space where other people were slow dancing.

He pulled her close into his chest, where she rested her head, while they both swayed from side to side. He was so charming. So chivalrous. Bulma sighed as the music flooded her ears, trying to think of anything other than Vegeta not texting her to tell her he was doing a fantastic job with Trunks and would love to do it more often. 'In fact, Bulma, you should take the rest of the week to do whatever you want while I watch Trunks.'

A slight crease formed in her brow. Yeah right. She almost snorted with laughter.

"Are you OK, Bulma? You seem very preoccupied." Philippe's honey coated accent drifted into her ears.

"I'm fine. Just really feeling this music, y'know?"

"Ah, yes. The saxophone. Beautiful. Like yourself, no?"

God, she wasn't used to such flattery. It made her face hot with embarrassment.

All of a sudden she felt his hand on her face. He lifted her chin up, gently, and searched her eyes.

"You are the most gorgeous creature I have ever seen, Bulma Briefs."

* * *

><p>This was getting him nowhere. What the blazes … He had tried everything, even those fucking Telejubbies, or whatever they were. But no, the boy wouldn't succumb to slumber. And if Trunks wouldn't sleep, than neither could he. That woman should have been back by now. She said three hours, and that was five hours ago. She was taking fucking liberties.<p>

He shoved a bawling Trunks in his crib and glowered down at him. "If you don't sleep, I swear to God I'll … Just fucking sleep, will you," he said and clenched his fists to his sides.

He raked a hand through his hair. No problem, she said. _No problem_. Was she deluded? This was a problem. He checked the make-shift diaper and it was fine, the boy had been fed, so he couldn't possibly be hungry—even though he was half Saiyan—he'd watched six episodes of the God-awful show 'Thomas the Tank Engine' (which, frankly, scared the shit out him. Transportation vehicles with _faces?_). Vegeta had run out of ideas. He thought about leaving the boy in the room and just going to bed, but the level of distress was hard to ignore and hard to switch off. It was tough luck.

Trunks wailed and wailed, until Vegeta gave up and sat on the bed next to his crib.

Trunks shook the bars of the crib. "Da-daaaaaaa."

Vegeta looked out the window at the starry sky, the slight glow from the street lamps hovering just outside. Then it came to him. An idea that might work. It was something his mother used to do when he was young, when he too found it difficult to achieve sleep.

The sudden thought of his mother brought heaviness to his heart, and the sadness must have been printed on his face, because Trunks stopped crying, instead, looked at his father with a curious expression.

"Da-da?"

Vegeta stood up. "C'mon boy. Out of there. We're going to the roof."

Five minutes later, and they were both sitting on the top of the domed building, staring at the sky. This is what he used to do—watch the stars, discover all the different planets and constellations.

Trunks was silent as he admired the glittering sky.

Vegeta saw the dim red glow of where his home used to be, still suspended in the galaxy.

"You see there, boy," he said, pointing to where the glow was.

Trunks focused very hard to where his father was pointing.

"The Saiyan blood, the blood of a prince and the blood that now runs through your veins originated there. Great warriors were born there, like myself and my father, and his father and …" He stopped for a moment, thinking whether or not to mention Kakkarot. The clown was an idiot. No, he'd leave him out of it. "We fought great battles for that planet. For home. I would do it all over again if I could. I would slay thousands again if I could, but I can't. Not anymore."

He looked down just in time to see Trunks falling forward, and grabbed the back of his 'diaper'. Trunks was snoring, a little bubble of snot inflating from his right nostril. Damn brat had fallen asleep while he was giving him a dose of his heritage. That would be Bulma's genes working away within him then. Vegeta narrowed his eyes at his son. _His_ son. It was a strange thing. He never, in a million years, thought he would be a father. Not after planet Vegeta was destroyed, anyway. Yet here he was, lecturing his half-saiyan son, who couldn't even be bothered to listen. Perhaps the boy was a bit young. If he was a full blooded Saiyan, it would be fine. But for now, he would let him rest.

At least he could get some sleep of his own now.

He decided to stay outside for a little longer, still holding Trunks by his diaper. He leaned back and as he did, he felt something jabbing him in the ass. What the fuck? He reached into his back pocket and pulled out that pointless device Bulma had given him. How was he meant to work this thing? He'd used communication devices before, but none like this. He pressed the red button at the top and the screen came to life, displaying the capsule corp logo. So she gave him a company phone?

He stared at it for a while, flipping it over in his hand. What did she say for him to do? Something about a message …

* * *

><p>Those words wrapped around her like silk. She stood there, motionless, absorbing the moment, the small glimmer of hope in Philippe's eyes. He was telling her what he thought. And he thought she was beautiful. At that point, despite a group of people doing the conga behind them, it felt like Bulma and Philippe were the only ones in the room. And it was a big room. It felt like that scene from beauty and the beast, except Philippe wasn't a beast at all.<p>

He still had hold of her chin, when a vibrating in her bra made her start. Her eyes widened. She'd almost forgot that she'd shoved her phone into her bra for safe keeping. And now it had vibrated. Philippe arched an eyebrow, curious as to why Bulma was jittering around.

She smiled apologetically. "Hold that thought, Philippe," and she walked off to the side to check her phone. Subtly, she whipped it out of her bra, and saw the '_**one new message**_' glowing on the screen. Apprehensively, she opened the message, and her heart crawled into her throat when she read:

_**Boy aslep**_

She wanted to laugh. Whether it was the giddiness from the alcohol—even though she was probably sober by now—or the fact that Vegeta had text her, she didn't know. Sure, the text looked like it had been written by a caveman, and sure, he mistyped 'asleep', but it was there, as clear as day. Everything was fine. Everything was good.

"Everything OK?" the sweet French voice of Philippe presented itself again as he stood beside her.

She smiled. "Yeah, it is," she said, clasping her phone. She clicked it again to check the time. 1:30pm. _Shit_. A sudden rush of guilt enveloped her. She'd been out for way longer than she said, had been dancing with a sexy French man, had been drinking a bit too much wine, when the father of her child had been looking at home looking after said child.

Why did she feel so guilty? Didn't she deserve a bit of time to let her hair down?

"Are you sure, Bulma?" Philippe had concern all over his face.

"Yes … Um … I'm gonna go now. It's late. I'm tired, and I want to see if everything is OK at home," she said, looking over at the table her father was sitting at, his head lolled back, as he slept sitting upright. "And my dad's looking pretty gone right now."

Philippe looked at Dr Briefs and laughed. "Ah, I see, I see. Yes, you better had. I will call a taxi for you and your family."

"Oh, no, it's OK." She waved her hand dismissively. She just wanted to get home.

"OK. Whatever you want. And, Bulma," he said, taking a card out of his pocket. "Here is my number."

She looked at the card, and then took it hesitantly. "Thanks. I guess I'll see you around. Thanks for a lovely evening.

He flashed a heart stopping smile. "Thank _you_, Bulma Briefs."

Technically, the taxi home should have taken ten minutes, but they had to stop twice to allow Dr Briefs to throw up on the side walk. Thank God there were no cameras around. Imagine if those pictures got out? So, the drive home took double the time. It was quite funny really, seeing her dad so drunk. She hadn't seen him like that … ever, actually.

As soon as they entered the building, Bulma kicked her heels off and padded around, looking for any signs of destruction. Bunny and Dr Briefs went straight up to bed, Bunny aiding him as he clambered up the stairs. Bulma stifled another chuckle. She didn't want to antagonise her father.

The house was just as she left it. Not a thing out of place. So, Vegeta did a good job, then. She nodded to herself, pride emanating. She wondered what they got up to. Did he read him a bed time story? She was curious as to why it took Vegeta a whole five hours to text, but then, he was probably asleep now, so she didn't want to wake him. There was a nagging feeling in her, though. Maybe it was spending most of the night with Philippe, but it didn't feel right. Something didn't feel right. Did she mean to get that close to a guy she barely knew? She'd done it before with Vegeta, who, now, she knew pretty damn well.

She sat down on the couch in the living room, catching sight of the Thomas the Tank Engine DVD that had been left open on the coffee table. That swirl of adoration crept back into her system. Was this Vegeta's way of proving something to her? Well, it had proved that he could look after their son, and that he did care for him … But did it say anything about _them_? It felt like a selfish thought, but she couldn't help wonder. There she was, enjoying an evening with a guy who was like an open book. She knew that if she ever considered Philippe, their relationship would be perfect.

She didn't want perfect.

She wanted Vegeta.

The thought was so immediate it surprised her. She smiled and leaned back into the soft scatter cushions.

"What's so amusing?"

Bulma sat forward. How did she not hear him coming in? Had he been here the whole time?

"Vegeta."

He was stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, his arms folded and his forever scowling face hidden slightly in the darkness. For some reason, the sight of him was so welcoming, she felt a bit overcome.

She stood up. C'mon, Bulma, you've rehearsed this. Wait. No, you haven't.

It could either go totally wrong, or oh, so totally right, but there was only one way to find out. She walked over, but stopped when he chucked something at her, catching the object with her cat-like reflexes.

"I won't be needing that anymore," he said.

She looked at the phone in her hands for a second, before throwing it on the couch. She didn't need any digressions.

Vegeta looked at her curiously for a moment as she approached, his body tensing for no God damn reason. His mouth feeling dryer than it usually did. Oh God. A twitching down below. It was that bloody dress of hers.

Bulma stood directly in front of him, their eyes level, their heavy breathing synced.

There was a particularly enticing smell emanating from Bulma, that familiar heat. But there was also a strange unfamiliar, masculine smell just below the surface.

That connection from before. She felt it again, as well as her skin heating to one hundred degrees. And that was just from looking at him. Yep, she definitely wanted Vegeta. She just didn't get the same feeling from anyone else. She took a deep breath.

"Vegeta. I want you, too … now."

He looked stunned, but she didn't care as she pressed her mouth against his. He returned the favour instantly, licking and teasing her lips with the tip of his tongue. She tried to push him back against the wall, but he wouldn't budge, and she felt him smirk as he started to push her backwards, their hands frantically feeling all over. She ran her hands through his hair, tugging gently, trying to feel as much of him as she could. His hands ran painfully slow down her shoulders, her back and her ass, squeezing hard as he lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and arched her back as he pressed her into the wall, the room spinning and filling with heat. It was all happening so quickly, Bulma didn't have time to understand what was going all. All she knew was she was where she wanted to be. And that now, Vegeta was nipping at her neck, while holding her firmly to the wall.

The tickling sensation instantly set her off, and she voiced her pleasure, making Vegeta growl in response. It was an animalistic sound, but it just made the feeling more intense. Further and further, he made his way down her chest, pulling his head back to admire the sight of her.

Her hair was a mess, draped over her shoulder, tumbling down her cleavage, which was rising and falling rapidly. He looked up into her eyes. The deep blue, shining in the darkness. She was his. This woman. He shifted her a bit, trying not to let the moment get the better of him. But the heat from between her legs was intoxicating, drawing him closer.

Bulma looked confused for a second. What the hell did he stop for? He can't stop.

He grinned, then turned round, throwing her on the couch, where she landed with a 'whumph'. He strolled over, taking off his t-shirt and discarding it to the floor.

Bulma nearly cried with appreciation. He was like a God. A God walking towards her with so much lust in his eyes. She felt too exposed, her legs apart, her dress rolled right up to the top of her thighs revealing her black lacy underwear.

"That dress is getting in the way, don't you think?" he said, looking down at her.

She wanted to yelp. But instead, she mumbled, "I can't get it off," sheepishly looking away.

Vegeta arched an eyebrow. He'd have to take it off for her then. He crawled over her until their faces were inches apart, and ran his hands from her calves to her thighs, pushing the dress further upwards, revealing her flat stomach. It was amazing that she had carried a Saiyan child. It baffled him to think that she'd done such a thing and her body still looked fantastic. He made a low grumbling noise in the back of his throat and began to leave soft kisses on her stomach, while letting his hand rest on her inner thigh. He grinned when he felt her legs writhe beneath his touch. God, the top of her thighs felt damp.

Bulma bucked her hips, moaning from the little bites he was giving her, and the fact that he wouldn't move his hand. It was agonising. She took a fist full of his hair and pulled him up to her, where their lips met again in a passionate frenzy, his tongue pushing into her mouth, claiming dominance instantly.

She tugged on his bottom lip with her teeth, pulling it back gently. He watched her with hooded eyes, dazed, as her hands roamed down his chest. Her touch so gentle, but so wanting. He positioned himself between her legs and thrust quite hard, feeling agitated from the barricade of clothing. Bulma's eyes widened. She didn't expect that. Not yet.

Vegeta grabbed the bottom of her dress and pulled it up to her chest, where it got stuck.

"Ow, ow, no, Vegeta. It won't come off like that," Bulma said, trying to pull it back down.

To hell it won't. He pulled it again and the material snapped a bit.

"Seriously. It won't. You're gonna break it." She pushed him aside and turned around. "Pull the zip down," she said, pointing to the silver zip on her back.

He sighed. Why couldn't he have just ripped it to shreds? They could've been fucking by now. He grabbed the zip and pulled it down, snapping it off in the process.

"What was that," Bulma said, panting, and looking over her shoulder.

"Nothing," he said, yanking the dress down and flipping her over so quick it made her squeak.

He glanced at her chest, admiring how full it was, although, it would've looked a lot better without the bra.

As if she'd read his mind, Bulma started to undo the clasp of her bra with fumbling hands, and threw it on the floor, next to Vegeta's shirt.

He sat on his heels, agog. She had him now, she thought. Bulma liked Vegeta being a bit rough with her, but she wasn't one to let it go completely in his favour, so slowly, she ran her hands down his abdomen and let them rest just above the waist band of his short. He didn't move, letting her do as she pleased, so she pulled the shorts down and looked at what was beneath them. She licked her lips.

Vegeta awkwardly shifted so he could kick the damn things off. Now he was before her. Naked. And oh, what a sight it was. She felt paralysed, almost staring at his erection. She wanted nothing more than to taste him, the feel a Saiyan prince in her mouth. She hadn't done it in some time and didn't really find the act the pleasurable for her, but Vegeta set something off within her. That fire that she couldn't put out. His eyes burned into hers as he anticipated her next move. She'd never felt so much power and control over him before.

Without further thought, she bent forward and wrapped her lips around him, grasping him at the base, moving downwards and then back up again. Vegeta hissed and leaned back on the arm of the chair, holding on to her head to create a perfect rhythm. She rolled her tongue around his tip as she sucked, back and forth, back and forth, listening to the grunts of pleasure, and feeling him buck slightly beneath her. She was in control. She would see it 'til the end. Back and forth, his manhood slick with spit.

The taste of salt already forming in her mouth.

Vegeta tried not to pull her head too hard, but was struggling, gripping onto the couch cushions, wanting to chew into them. He was going to climax, but he was holding it off. Something wouldn't let him do it. He just had to let go. He looked at Bulma again, her head bobbing up and down, the jolts of pleasure shooting up his spine and down his legs, and it sent him right to the edge. His body shook and he pulled tight on Bulma's hair, and he released his seed into her mouth, stilling as it left his body.

He fell back into the chair, the heavenly throbbing, pulsing all over his body as a calm wave was cast over him.

Bulma sat back and threw her head back, feeling the warm liquid slide down her throat, then she smiled lazily, momentarily disconnected from the world. She didn't even have a moment to bask in the tranquillity when Vegeta pounced on her, sending her backwards into the cushions. She wanted to giggle, but Vegeta soon silenced her by yanking her panties down, leaving them to sit round her angles, while he pushed two fingers inside her, gently rubbing her with his thumb. The satisfying feel of her. The familiar, feel of her. Shit, he remembered it like it was yesterday. So ready for him.

She froze, then loosened, letting the sensation carry her away. She gazed at him, his deep onyx eyes diving into her soul. There was so much determination in her eyes. It was taking over her. She loved him. Too much. She wanted to scream it out to him. To rid the thought, she closed her eyes and let her head fall back, bucking her hips to match his rhythm. Even when she closed her eyes she saw his face.

"Oh God, Vegeta, no."

And her legs started to close together around his arm, tighter and tighter.

"No, please."

Vegeta pushed more forcefully, slipping another finger inside her, his hand soaked in her heat. Watching and listening to her moan was sending him back, but he continued. He bared his teeth, growling as he felt her getting closer to edge.

Bulma gasped, lifting her hips into the air, her muscles clasping around Vegeta's fingers, as her body racked with pleasure. She was floating for those few precious moments, her body molding into the sofa.

She opened her eyes when she felt Vegeta's hand rest on her chest. She looked at him quizzically. What was he doing? He had his eyes closed, his hand placed over her heart. Was he—Was he feeling her heart beat?

It was still pretty fast. He concentrated as he felt it slowing down, beating slower, and slower until it picked up a regular beat. Slowly, he opened his eyes, shocked to see her huge blue eyes staring back, with a look of concern. She had nothing to be concerned about. He was just being careful with her. Despite the Saiyan anatomy being compatible with the human anatomy, Saiyans still carried a lot more power and stamina. If he was to totally have his way with her, he'd probably end up giving her a heart attack, which would be great for his ego for a moment, but then she'd probably die. And that wouldn't be good. He didn't want to kill Bulma.

She sighed, feeling the cold air caressing her hot skin. She couldn't look anywhere else other than Vegeta's eyes. She'd been captured. And she loved it.

He placed his elbows either side of her head, bringing his face to hers again, then he looked down at his renewed state of arousal, then back at Bulma, a glint of mischief in his eyes. She trailed her hands down his back and nodded approvingly, opening his legs wider for him.

He was going to take this woman until she cried out his name, again and again. He _would _satisfy her tonight.

* * *

><p>AN - Having a bit of the dreaded writer's block with this story, atm, so I'm taking a bit of a break to work on my AU 'Contending with Darkness.' I haven't abandoned, and I will definitely be back. Thanks for your patience, and thanks for reading.


	13. Flaky Relations

A/N - Wow ... It's been a while. Hello there! Hope you're all still with me on this one. I appreciate that it's been over a year since I updated this fic, but here I am to continue where I left off. This chapter is me getting back into writing for this fiction, as the last fiction I wrote was quite dark and intense. So not much really goes on in this chapter, but I'd like to think it's a nice, cheeky little read for you. Also, my writing style has changed quite a lot since I last wrote this. You might notice it, but it shouldn't make too much of a difference. Anywho ... Bon apetit!

Thanks to my lovely, patient beta, Adli.

* * *

><p>I<span>gniting the Fire – Chapter Thirteen<span>

Flaky Relations

Journeying through the many corridors of Capsule Corp for something remotely interesting was becoming quite bad habit of Vegeta's. Though his mind was far too preoccupied on the heavenly, salty flavours against the pad of his tongue (as he chewed on his thirtieth beef jerky of the day), there was still a weight of boredom lagging behind him. It might have been a correct assumption to say that he was addicted to the things, making damn sure that the older woman presented him with a fresh box every other day. He was going through them like they were his one and only meal, less satisfied after than before, his ravenous stomach crying out the minute he stopped chomping the last. He gnawed into the flaky meat, pulled and snapped it in half, before chewing unscrupulously.

He passed window after window, until a sight that captured his soul, froze him with dread. Walking around. Several of them. He narrowed his eyes at the darkened street just outside the grounds, and basking in the gaunt, yellow light of the street lamps was a group of humans dressed in a costume resembling Cell. There was six of them in total. All dressed the same, except for one buffoon who stupidly chose to throw a Hercule Satan costume on. Maybe three years ago Vegeta would have fallen for this old trick, but not this time. This time he knew that the most ridiculous, waste of time ordeal that was Halloween was taking place, yet again.

Humans were hard enough to comprehend as it was, but _this_?

Further down the street, amongst another group of cackling humans and their brats, were houses with oddly shaped lanterns outside their front doors, burning orange, with offensive faces carved into them. He didn't mind those. There was something strangely comforting about their sadistic grins, especially when they beckoned a brat to cry. He remembered, way back when he first took up residence on this ball of mud, Bulma dressing up in barely anything at all, with the lame excuse of this frivolous holiday.

Vegeta stopped chewing when he saw a familiar group of morons flouncing up the pathway. Bulma, Q-ball and the Toaster, Scarface and some other small woman with short hair, all strode up the path, evidently dressed up like the rest of the Earth's population, wielding buckets filled to the brim with candy. And Vegeta was never surprised to see—supposedly—adults walking around dressed as animals. That was what made him uncomfortable: the unsettling feeling of 'getting used' to something. Back with Frieza, there was never much time to get used to anything, especially when it came to planetary customs. Those planets had usually been obliterated within a day or so. Three days maximum.

The beef jerky was soggy and flavourless in his mouth, but he continued to chew thoughtfully. In a way, he was thankful this year, thankful that Bulma didn't even bother to try coaxing him into joining in with the festivities. Only once had he been made to dress like a fool, but he didn't let that brush his mind very often.

"Would you like to try one of my _ghoulish _treats, Vegeta?"

He jumped, too small of an action for the human eye to catch, and turned away from the window to see the older woman dressed in a hideous, pink, fluffy costume, an all-in-one ensemble, with giant fabric ears poking out of the top of her head. One of the ears was bent. He finally swallowed the lump of pulped meat, glanced at the tray she was holding, too dumbfounded to respond. Various sized cakes sat on the tray in a compulsive pattern, each one working as a unit to create a sharp-toothed face. With a quick hand, he took one and crammed it in his mouth. By the time he checked out the window again, Bulma had vanished, no doubt declaring her inebriated presence within the building in a matter of seconds.

"Well? Are they delightful, or _frightful_?" the older woman said, dancing about on the spot, like her bladder was about to erupt.

He'd forgotten she was there. As usual, her cooking was immensely pleasing. So much so, in fact, that he swiped the tray from her hands and continued his ambling through the building, trying to think of nothing other than the satisfaction the consumption of these cakes brought to his stomach.

* * *

><p>"What was the name of that guy? <em>Lance?<em>"

They all laughed. Bulma laughed so hard she swore she was working up a six-pack. The five of them congregated around the breakfast bar in the kitchen, threw their bountiful earnings on the table and scattered them across the surface like they were searching for gold. It had been a good turn-out this year. Earlier, Bulma had taken Trunks out for his first Trick-or-treat, but the poor guy couldn't keep his mind on anything other than the multitude of vampires, witches and zombies walking past. His eyes had widened, almost popped out of his skull at the sight of them all. She was surprised he had held his nerve for so long. That was the pride from his father's side worming its way into his personality. When they had returned home he was too exhausted to eat, so she put him to bed, and then called her friends, under the begrudged promise that, if need be, Vegeta would tend to his son.

The start of the night was strictly located in the hottest bar in town called 'Vanity', where they had soon become bored of the stern faces and pinched lips, and decided upon some trick-or-treating of their own. Suffice to say they had hit the mother-load.

"Where's the alcohol?" Eighteen said, looking grave dressed as Link from Zelda.

Bulma looked at the android for a few seconds, amused by how she had fitted into the group in such a short amount of time. Sure, she could be quite callous at times, but there was something sweet about her, something endearing. Plus, she was making Krillin immeasurably happy. Bulma envied them, she supposed.

It was three in the morning by the time her guests started to show signs of fatigue, alcohol mashing up most of their conversations, making them talk nonsense amongst each other. They had spoken about which type of candy was the best, tested who could blow the biggest bubble, who could fit the most cola cubes in their mouth, and dabbled in a pathetic attempt at charades. Conversation was running dry, and Bulma glanced at the two couples sitting together. Veronica, Yamcha's new girlfriend, was pleasant enough, though she had very little input within the group. She mainly just laughed when it was expected, and occasionally whispered something to Yamcha, only for him to grin and nod, trying to find a way to re-join the conversation. However, they looked content.

Bulma chewed a piece of gum, reclined in her chair, looked at Krillin and Eighteen and said, "So this is pretty serious, huh?"

Krillin, dressed as Roshi, tipped his sunglasses and smiled, his cheeks glowing red. He opened his mouth to answer, but snapped it shut again, swallowed, and looked to the other end of the room.

They all turned round to see Vegeta leaning against the doorframe, indolently staring back at them.

Bulma swivelled back around in her chair, too focused on extracting some answers out of Krillin to be worried about Vegeta. "Well?"

"Well," Krillin started, waiting for the all-clear from Eighteen, sheepishly gazing beneath his shades. "I … uh … guess you could say—"

"When did you and Vegeta start _sleeping_ together again?" Eighteen said, flicked her blond hair off her shoulder, folded her arms, and mirrored Bulma's relaxed posture.

The volume in the room thudded to the ground, as Bulma flung herself forward, choked on the piece of gum she'd been champing on for the past half an hour. Her face flushed with heat as she gasped for oxygen, eyes rolling to all the vacant expressions her guests were giving her. A heavy pounding on her back, thanks to Yamcha, loosened the lodged gum, allowing her to spit it out and chuck it in the bin, so she could try to resume a more nonchalant pose. She settled on crossing her legs and leaning back, while glaring at Eighteen, who looked smug with the outlandish results.

"You OK, Bulma?" Yamcha asked, narrowed his eyes at her, then flicked them back to Eighteen as the stand-off continued.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Bulma said, raising a hand. "That's a bit … er … personal, Eighteen." The heat was still prickling her cheeks.

OK, so she hadn't divulged any cherished information with her friends yet, but, truthfully, there wasn't much to say. She'd vowed to keep her own matters to herself from now on. Even so, she could feel Vegeta scrutinising her, baiting her to say something stupid. That was why he was standing there, wasn't it? It was as if he could foresee an embarrassing event brewing from miles away, still managing to show up right on cue to witness the carnage.

Eighteen leaned forward, her eyes narrowing to slits. "So is mine and Krillin's _situation_."

Bulma laughed. When did the evening suddenly drop in tempo? When did the laughing and the joking stop? People were clearly sleep deprived and getting grouchy.

"_Situation_? Wait." She shook her head to clear the thought. "Don't you think it's a bit different? My question to Krillin wasn't _that _direct," Bulma said imploringly, hoping Eighteen would back down.

Who was she kidding?

The android's anger flared even more, making Krillin sink back into his chair like the hermit he was dressed up to be. "But you want to know, don't you?" She flopped back, threw her hands up, glanced at everyone else in the room. "I bet you're all _dying_ to _know_." She folded her arms and huffed.

Everyone itched uncomfortably in their seats as the silence stabilised. Bulma couldn't deny that the thought may have crossed her mind on various occasions. Could she be held guilty for thinking such a thing, though? It was a fact that Krillin was human, and Eighteen was an android, so how, exactly, would they? The answer would forever lay dormant, because, deep down, she did not want to know the ins and outs of anyone's sex life. Other than her own, of course … But maybe that was why Krillin and Eighteen's relationship worked. Sex mightn't have been in the equation.

Vegeta laughed. They all turned round.

"I would've come down a lot sooner if I'd known it was going to be _this_ entertaining," he said, and smirked.

That was it. She'd had enough. Everyone was tired. It was time to go home. She yawned, discretely patted her cheeks to make sure they weren't still blazing with embarrassment, and slithered out of her chair. "Right, I think we'd better call it a night, guys." She sighed for dramatic effect, swept hair off her face with one sweating palm.

No one disputed against the idea, and everyone left in a sensible fashion, including Eighteen, who, in her own way, apologised for her little outburst, blaming the alcohol … _naturally_.

Trunks was in a peaceful sleep, hopefully dreaming about something pleasant, and not the traumatic experience he had had to withstand earlier in the evening. After checking up on him, Bulma threw herself in front of the vanity mirror and rubbed at her face with a damp washcloth, ridding herself of the cat-like eye makeup she had tried to master. The way Eighteen had spoken to her was still bugging her. She wondered as to why she didn't argue with the woman like she would have done, say, maybe a handful of years ago, when her sometimes brash personality got the better of her. Trunks had changed her. _Vegeta_ had changed her, which was an annoying thought.

It still didn't give Eighteen the right to pick at her like she was a piece of old gum on her shoe.

It was getting colder, so Bulma opted for the comfiest, fleecy pyjamas she'd ever purchased in at least ten years. Style was not something she worried about when it came to pyjamas, even if they were bright orange with little ducks printed all over them. She got into bed and sat on top of the covers, squinting at the pages of a book she was desperately trying to immerse herself within, but couldn't stop thinking about how the night had ended. Not that she was embarrassed or anything, but why did Eighteen say such a thing? Bulma snapped the book shut and slammed it on the table next to her bed, deciding on a trudge down the corridor to Vegeta's room.

His bedroom door was gaping open, so she strode in and looked around, seeing the steam easing out from underneath the en-suite door. She knocked three times, stood back and folded her arms, listened to the sound of running tap water. Why was there so much steam? Was he running the bath _and _the sink? Did he ever think of waste?

"Vegeta. A word, please."

She stood idle, dabbling with whether to knock again, when the door swung open, blasting light and hot air into the room. It felt overbearing on her skin. Beneath the film of dispersing mist, Vegeta stood over the sink, splashing handfuls of water into his face, continuing his routine like she wasn't there at all.

Bulma tapped her foot, ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth, before saying, "So you found that funny, huh? I didn't see you trying to defend me back there."

He stood up, yanked a towel off the rail and dabbed it against his face, smearing it down to pat it across his neck and shoulders. "Whatever you and that tin-can hiss about has nothing to do with me." He dropped the towel and stepped over it.

Bulma stared at it, the small lump of crinkled material heaped beneath his feet, damp onto the tiles. "It is when she's blabbing _that s_ort of thing." She looked away.

"What thing?" he said, stepped uncomfortably close to her.

"You know. That thing you found _so _hilarious." She sighed, finally allowing her eyes meet his.

"I didn't find it hilarious, at all."

She wanted to step aside him to check if he didn't still have the hot tap running, because it was too warm in his room. Fleecy duck pyjamas were not a good idea, after all. Then again, visiting Vegeta was not the plan, yet it had become, unashamedly, a regular thing for her, and as he looked at her, awaiting the next move, she felt herself drawn into him again. A familiar force enveloping her, pushing her into him.

"Hm," she said, running a finger down his chest. "You're definitely not laughing now."

In a whirlwind of speed, he grabbed her wrist, led her to the bed, pushed her down so her legs were just about dangling off the edge. He dropped to his knees in a mad panic, gripped under her thighs and dragged her into him, like she was a rag doll. Her breathing quickened already, anticipating everything yet not expecting his actions. Every time he surprised her, and yet he relied on such carnal instinct to exact his emotions, which struck her at all once.

He wrapped his fingers around the heavy waistband of her pyjama bottoms, curling them, and he peeled them down until they gathered around her ankles. She shuffled on her bum to kick them off, but was given no time as he gripped her hips and his mouth was on her, tongue was circling her, fingers were in and out of her so fast she lurched forward into half a stomach crunch, unable to believe the situation she was in. Very aware that it was four in the morning, and Vegeta's bedroom door was wide open, Bulma futilely tried to stifle her pleasure by grasping a handful of linen sheets and cramming it into her mouth, while flinging her head back, allowing the mash of events to continue. The sheets snapped out of her mouth as he sank his tongue inside her slowly, then ran it upwards, tantalising the skin, and started sucking. She was going to die. She gasped, lifted her hips a fraction off the bed, then down as he dropped the pace once again. No, no, _she_ wasn't going to die. _He _was, if he was stopping. She could feel the smirk spreading across his face as he stopped, and she groaned, rolled her head to the side, spread her legs even wider, throbbing and hanging on the edge of sanity. She wanted more of him every time, but could never get enough.

Bulma was about to scold him, when he moved her further up the bed and was on top of her, their noses touching as he watched her startled expression sink. She blinked, looked into the eyes of this man and failed to comprehend how they always wound up in this scenario, each time feeling anew against all the others. She was hot, sweating in her fleecy jumper, legs akimbo, with a Saiyan lying on top of her, silently exposing emotions, urging him to decode every action she made. Then he was inside her, sighing heavily as he sank right to the hilt, his eyes darkening as she arched her back, meeting into each achingly slow thrust. The detachment was still there, as Vegeta's hands remained pinned at the sides of her head, while his pace quickened, and he pounded into her, her body building up towards its peak faster than she ever imagined it could.

And that was how it was, until they both climaxed and fell asleep together. That was how it had been for the past month.

After a deep, dreamless sleep, Bulma woke to a pleasantly warm autumn morning, the lazy orange day light intermittently wafting into the room each time the gentle breeze touched the curtains. She was on her side, her hand lacking feeling after being tucked under her head for the entire night. As she turned over, her body ached, still unaccustomed to the ferocity of Vegeta's ways in the bedroom, and her chest swelled at the sight of him. He was facing her, his cheek resting on his forearm, face relaxed, a tuft of hair plastered against his forehead, and still immersed in sub consciousness.

With her, he was always at his most vulnerable, exposing himself in every way with the possibility of being shot down. It made her skin prickle, thinking that. When he first came to Earth the thought hadn't even crossed her mind that they could ever be where they were today. Vegeta's breathing came in tiny huffs of air, so peaceful, so tranquil, and Bulma sighed, letting the smile she'd been holding back spread across her face. There had been a lot of sex in the past month, and it always presented itself in a crazy rush of adrenaline and hormones, neither one of them really thinking about what they were doing until they were actually doing it. It was as if they were teenagers, unable to keep their hands off each other, rushing into things in the name of lust. She took that, knowing that Vegeta wasn't used to any kind of relationship, and that it would take some time for him to adjust. And the sex was sensational.

Bulma reached out to brush the hair off his forehead back into to place, but was stopped by the distant wailing of her son. She sighed, guessing the sentimental moment would have to wait for another day, because it was breakfast time for Trunks.

* * *

><p>Too many humans were running around the compound. Inside and outside, their irritating manoeuvring around the place was really beginning to test his patience. All he felt like he was doing these days was watching, stalking their activities until the job was finally done, which, Bulma had promised him was <em>soon<em>, though never specified the _exact _day and _exact_ time. Pathetic.

This time he was unable to hold back, and decided to take a trip outside to see why the little weaklings were taking so damn long on his new gravity simulator. A month, Bulma had told him. It was going on two months, and as far as he could see, nothing other than an outer shell stood before him. His feet trampled against the thick, dead foliage the change in weather had created, as he marched over to the new dome situated at the very far end of the lawn; to give him peace, he hoped. There weren't any windows, which was what he had specifically asked for, but this made it hard for him to sneak a quick look at what was happening on the inside. Not that he would have had a clue, anyway. Nevertheless, humans were scrambling in and out within seconds, each one grasping onto the flapping papers in the wind. He sidled to the door, a little tempted to go in, but not enough to have to face the riff raff inside. It didn't matter. Well, it did more than anything. But he wouldn't lower himself to a recognisable inquisitive nature.

He sniffed, narrowed his eyes as the door zipped open and another male wondered out pushing a pair of glasses further up his long nose.

"I'm guessing it works, then?"

Again, someone had managed to catch him unaware, making him flinch. This time it wasn't the older woman, but the blond, short-haired female he had watched tailing Bulma's every move for the past month or so. She was standing too close, so he stepped back and frowned, disengaging himself from her presence, hoping she would take the hint and go away.

But she didn't.

"The chip … in your head … to stop the nightmares?" She looked at the floor, a little baffled by her own blabbering mouth. Then her head snapped up, a beaming smile spread across her blushing face. "Sorry," she said, holding out a hand to which Vegeta stared at, mortified. "I'm Mercedes. Bulma and I came up with the idea for the … uh … you know." With the same hand, she gestured to his face, which confused him even more, then, covering her shame, dropped the hand to her side.

Another human wondered into the building. And all of a sudden one of them was a mere few meters away, wielding a giant canon, which emitted air and a roaring sound that blew the leaves off the lawn. How many of them were needed? And did it really take this many to create a fucking gravity simulator, when Bulma could have done it herself?

"When will this be completed?" he finally said, filling in for the awkward woman's unfortunate lack of intelligence.

She arched an eyebrow, obviously taken aback by the question, cleared her throat and looked over her shoulder at the work-in-progress. "Oh, it should be in a few weeks. Bulma—I mean, Miss Briefs—needs to configure the right gravitron settings, then it should be good to go."

He huffed, stood his ground. That woman was to walk away first, once she realised her presence was no longer needed, even when it wasn't needed to begin with.

But she didn't.

"Sorry, can I ask you something real quick?" she said, her eyes glowing with delight.

He shot her a disinterested look, then looked past her at one of the trees in the garden, its branches swaying back and forth, letting the last few of its leaves go adrift to the wind, circling.

"What are you going to be doing in there?"

He stared at her. Was she stupid? He didn't even want to answer such a retarded question. In fact, he had a right mind to blast her on the spot. It tickled his conscience, an act that he was so used to doing in a split second. That was too many years ago, though. He couldn't do that now, even if he really, desperately wanted to. Like with this ignoramus.

All he could do now was feed her idiocy. "Training …"

She smiled an awful, sorrowful, almost pitiful smile at him, which made his distaste for her grow even more so. "But, the Cell games are over … There's no more threat," she said, wrapping a lock of hair around her finger.

"There's always a threat," he mumbled, bored of the conversation.

Beyond her head, beyond the tree he had been looking at, Bulma strode across the garden, pushing Trunks in his mobile chair, and he watched her, effortlessly grabbing his attention and erasing his mind of the trivial woes he had been so focused on before.

"So … what kind of training?" The woman before him was now frowning.

He blinked, angled his head. "Why is an Earthling asking me that?"

"Well … I'm curious. That way I'll know to sync the gravity simulator."

He narrowed his eyes, but had to get the last glimpse of Bulma before she ventured out of view. "Ask her," he said, gesturing across the lawn to Bulma. "She seems to have control over _everything_." And he walked away, unsure what to do with the nauseating twitching in his palms.

He was standing under a cold shower thinking about her … again. It was boredom. It had to have been. Aimlessly he spend his days eating, sleeping and at any chance taking this woman who he had a burning obsession to touch every time she breezed past him. What was happening to him? Of course, he would never acknowledge it. Every time he felt himself drifting towards that peculiar, unfamiliar territory, he shut his mind off completely. He did not want to think about anything anymore. But she was consuming him, possessing every inch of him, and he couldn't stand for it. Nor would he sit down and take it like a bitch.

The fickle glow of her ki was loitering within his mind's eye as he followed her life force wandering through to Trunks' room, around to her quarters, past his own room, and down the stairs. A part of him, albeit very small, wondered why she hadn't stopped by his room on her travels, but he quickly shook the idea away. He had become like an animal in heat. Surely, sooner or later, the feeling would pass, would be sated so much that he would no longer bear the sight of her. Still, he wasn't so convinced.

* * *

><p>To take her mind off everything that had rapidly accumulated over the past couple of days, Bulma decided that, for one evening, she would vegetate in front of the TV, eating the remaining candy she had, while watching crappy reality shows until she would finally cave and fall asleep on the sofa. Unravelling a new piece of Hubba Bubba, Bulma squinted at the screen as a line of muscular, tan men all stood in before a girl while she deciphered which six out of the twelve were gay. It was trash, but she loved it, scoffing as the girl got it wrong three times.<p>

She sank lower onto the sofa, shimmying a blanket around her shoulders, as she blew bubble after bubble, until one final, mighty bubble popped on her face.

"Disgusting."

Vegeta made his way to the sofa, perched on the other end, grimaced at her while she scratched the film of gum from her face.

"Hey," she said politely, smiling.

He examined at the TV screen, brows knitted together as one of the guys was recalling his time on the show in a very camp way, throwing his hands up in the air, gesticulating after every word he said.

'_I just don't know how she guessed correctly'_, the guy said, huffing and flicking his copper bangs off his face.

Bulma laughed, more so at Vegeta's perplexed expression than anything, and she threw her legs across his lap, sinking further back into the sofa. He stiffened, shot her a look, before turning back to the screen. He definitely wasn't interested in it. Maybe she could find something he would favour.

Nothing was on. They had over three thousand channels, and not a single damn thing was on. Not for Vegeta, anyway. In the end she just threw on _Japan's Funniest Home Videos_, and cackled when a cat dive bombed off a couch trying to reach a window ledge. But soon even that wasn't enough to distract her from him being there. The tension, with each passing second that felt like an hour, was thickening, crawling onto her skin, stirring up that adrenaline once again.

She swallowed the gum, wincing as it slugged down her throat, and gently, in a soft, circular motion, rubbed Vegeta's crotch with her foot, waiting for his response, watching the stern profile of his face. The bulge in his jeans grew larger, but he remained intently focused on the canned laughter booming out of the TV speakers, his body betraying him. Bulma bit her lip, continued her onslaught, feeling him growing beneath the pad of her foot, trying to remain silent and not give out a weird little moan at pleasuring him.

Vegeta sighed through his nose, restraining by hopelessly grounding himself into the cushion of the sofa, angry that his body was giving into the torture regardless. This time she had chosen to come at him from a unique angle, but apparently, according to his engorging appendage, it was even more ensnaring than the last. Evidently, a single touch from her, _outside _of his clothing, was enough to provoke his lust. He clenched his jaw tight as sparks of electricity ran up and down his body, resonating from her actions, and it was enough for him to grab her foot.

His breathing was heavier than he thought, after the laughter from the TV had dispersed, and he checked her face, still trapping her squirming foot in his hand. He sat looking at her for a disconcerted moment, her chest rising and falling, the TV leaving a metallic hue on her skin. Even with his outstanding reflexes, he was unprepared when she scrambled across the sofa and onto his lap, squashing their bodies together, their mouths, as she kissed him deeply, hungrily, drawing his face up to hers. His eyes were wide, when she ground her hips against his and he responded almost instantly, too stunned by this wisp of a female to do anything other than immerse himself.

Gripping her hips to steady her, he regained control and pressed against her, becoming spurred on by each muffled moan she garbled into his mouth. The sound from the TV had shrunk until it vanished, gone with any entity in the room other than Bulma and himself. Nothing else was of concern while she was near him, on him. Fingers dug into her skin as she leaned back to frantically undo the zip of his jeans, freeing him. The look of awe on her face gave him momentous pleasure that he hadn't ever felt before, and he basked in it, in the rapture this woman had given him. Not just physical pleasure, but everything around that. It hadn't been glaringly obvious at first, yet as the days grew and his time on Earth solidified, he was beginning to see how much significance she held. As burdening as she was, she was also a beacon for him to follow, to guide him out of the darkness.

She rolled up her night dress and, gripping his shaft, guided him inside her. She smiled lazily, allowing him to settle into her, before kissing him deeply, bucking against him and building up a rhythm he could easily match. He inhaled between clenched teeth, holding her waist, allowing her control, relishing in the feel of her insides. She whimpered, clamped her hand over her mouth to stop herself, but he peeled it away, wanting nothing more than to hear her cry out when he made her come. She shook her head, smiled a secret, abashed smile, and threw her head back, letting go, moaning, grinding against him so hard.

Earlier, the thought had harrowed him. The possession she had over him had somewhat set him back within his advancements as a Saiyan, back when he first stayed at Capsule Corp. The thought of him ever getting tired of her was unhinged, unnatural. What they were doing was new to him, the _feeling_ he was getting was troubling and purifying at the same time. It was like he had a flame dancing in the palm of his hand, and had to try to keep it alight without having any resources to do so. He did not know what to do with this. He didn't. He could have her ten times a day, and would still feel a hollow in his chest where his heart may or may not have been. No one had ever meant more to him than if they served a beneficial purpose. Once she had been that person, in order to help him reach his goal. Now she was something more.

And he didn't know what to do about it.


End file.
